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fUming  eontraet  apacif icationa. 


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or  illuatratad  imprassion. 


Tha  last  racordad  frama  on  aach  microflcha 
shall  contain  tha  symbol  -♦  (moaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  tha  symbol  ▼  (moaning    END  I. 
whiehavar  appliaa. 

Mapa.  platas.  charts,  ate.  may  ba  filmad  at 
diffarant  raduction  ratios.  Thosa  too  larga  to  ba 
antiraly  includad  in  ona  axposura  ara  filmad 
baginning  In  tha  uppar  laft  hand  cornar.  laft  to 
right  and  top  to  bonom,  as  many  framas  as 
raquirad.  Tha  following  diagrams  illustrata  tha 
mathod: 


Las  imagaa  tuivantaa  ont  *t*  raproduitas  avac  la 
plus  grand  soin.  compto  tanu  da  la  condition  at 
da  la  nattat*  da  I'aaamplaira  film*,  at  an 
conf  ormM  avac  laa  eonditiona  du  eontrat  da 
filmaga. 

Laa  aitamplalraa  originaun  dont  la  couvanura  tn 
papiar  aat  ImprimAa  sont  film**  an  commancant 
par  la  pramiar  plat  at  an  tarminant  soit  par  la 
darni*ra  paga  qui  comporta  una  amprainta 
d'impraaalon  ou  d'illusvation,  soit  par  la  sacond 
plat,  salon  la  cas.  Toua  las  autras  aaampiairas 
originaua  sont  film^a  an  eommancant  par  la 
prami*ra  paga  qui  comporta  una  amprainta 
d'impraaalon  ou  d'iUuatration  at  an  tarminant  par 
la  darniira  paga  qui  comporta  una  talla 
amprainta. 

Un  daa  symbolas  suivants  apparaitra  sur  la 
darniira  imaga  da  chaqua  microfiche,  talon  la 
caa:  la  symbola  -^>  signifia  "A  SUIVRE".  la 
symbolo  ▼  signifia  "PIN". 

Las  canas.  planchas.  tablaaux.  ate.  pauvant  atra 
filmto  A  das  Uux  da  reduction  diffirants. 
Lorsquo  la  documant  aat  trap  grand  pour  itra 
raproduit  wt  un  saul  clich*.  il  ast  fllmi  A  partir 
da  I'angia  supdriaur  gaucha,  da  gaucha  *  droits, 
at  da  haut  an  bas.  an  pranant  la  nombra 
d'imagaa  ndcassaira.  Las  diagrammas  suivants 
illustrant  la  mdthoda. 


1  2  3 

4  5  6 


*«<»OCOry  RBOIUTION  TBT  CHART 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


Ui§_2B 

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^    /APPLIED  IfVMGE    Ir 


'653   Eost   Main   Slre«t 

Rochester    Ne.  York        |*609       USA 

(716)  «?  -  0300  -  Phone 

(716)   238-5989 -Fox 


HP"****" 


THE  ALMOSTS 


^ 


THE  ALMOSTS 


I 

i 


A  STUDY 
OF  THE  FEEBLE-MINDED 


BY 
HELEN  MacMURCHY 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  TORK 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

The  Ricernde  Press  Cambridge 
1920 


^. 


fN'5^ 


fA  r. 


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3 


COnrRIOMT,  1910,  BY  NSLSN  MACMURCRY 
AU.  miOHTS  RUBRVSO 


0  301ld3 


TO  THE  ICKM OBT 

or 

IIT  FATHER  AND  MT  MOTHEB 


PREFACE 

Sib  WiLUAii  Oblkr,  with  characteristic  kind- 
ness and  generosity,  wrote  an  Introduction  to 
The  Almostt  and  forwarded  the  manuscript 
from  Oxford  in  the  spring  of  1010. 

To  the  great  loss  of  the  reader,  the  manu- 
script never  arrived.  All  efforts  to  find  it  have 
been  unavaiUng,  and  now  the  master  has  laid 
aside  his  pen.  Nevertheless,  he,  being  dead, 
yet  speaketh  and  his  spirit  stiU  abides  with  his 
pupib. 

To  all  my  fellow-servants  who  are  helping 
the  mentally  defective,  and  by  helping  them 
trying  to  serve  humanity,  this  little  book  is 
offered  in  the  hope  that  in  their  hands  it  may 
be  used  to  advance  the  work  of  awakening 
public  interest  and  educating  public  opinion. 

Helen  MacMxtbcht 

Toronto,  Canada 

January  19, 1920 


ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 


To  the  Authors  and  Publishers  who  have  kmdly  given 
permission  for  the  use  of  quotations  in  "The  Ahnosts" 
from  the  copyright  works  mentioned  in  the  following  list, 
grateful  acknowledgments  and  thanks  are  offered. 

M'-^colm,  Gboboe  Macdonald:  Messrs.  K^an  Paul» 
Trench,  TrUbner  &  Co.,  Ltd. 

Sir  Oibbie,  Ge»boe  Macdonald:  Dr.  Greville  Mac- 
donald, A.  P.  Watt  &  Son,  and  Messrs.  Hurst  &  Blackett, 
Ltd. 

The  Wrecker,  Robert  Loxtib  Stevenson  and  LiiOTD 
Osbottbne:  Messrs.  Cassell  &  Co.,  Ltd.,  and  Messrs. 
Charles  Scribner's  Sons. 

The  Cruiee  of  the  Janet  Nichol,  Mbs.  R.  L.  Stevenson: 
Messrs.  Charles  Scribner's  Sons. 

Mr.  Opp,  AucE  Hegan  Rice:  Messrs.  Hodder  & 
Stoughton  and  The  Century  Company. 

Marm  lata,  Kate  Douglas  Wiggin:  Messrs.  Houghton 
Mifflin  Company. 

Veety  of  Ae  Bantu,  Saba  P.  McL.  Gbeene:  Messrs. 
Harper  &  Brothers. 

Bram  of  the  Five  Comers,  Arnold  Mitlder:  Messrs. 
A.  C.  McCIurg  &  Co. 

Heritagea  of  the  Lord,  from  "The  Contributors'  Club," 
Atlantic  MotUUy:  The  Editor  of  the  Atlantic  Monthly. 


And  to  many  friends  who  have  helped  me 


CONTENTS 


I.  Shakespeabe:  Buntan:  Scott   .      .      .      1 
Tile   Fool  — The    Pilgrim's    Progress  — 
Waverley  —  Ivanhoe  —  The  Heart  of 
Mid-Lothian 

II.  The  Mental  Defectives  op  Dickens  .    31 
Little  Dorrit  —  Bamaby  Rudge  —  Nich- 
olas Nickleby  —  Our  Mutual  Friend  — 
Dombey  and  Son  —  Bleak  House 

III.  BuLWEB  Lytton:  Chables  Reade:  Vic- 

tor Hugo:  George  MacDonald: 
George  Euot:  Joseph  Conrad: 
Robert  Louis  Stevenson  ....  101 
Ernest  Maltravers  —  Alice  —  Put  Your- 
self in  His  Place — Notre  Dame  de  Paris — 
Malcolm  —  Sir  Gibbie  —  Brother  Jacob 
—  The  Idiots  —  OlaUa  —  The  Wrecker 

IV.  Nathaniel  Hawthorne:  Auce  Hegan 

Rice:  Kate  Douglas  Wiggin:  Sarah 

P.  McL.  Greene:  Arnold  Mulder: 

The  Contributors'  Club       .      .      .  145 

The  Marble  Faun  —  Mr.  Opp  —  Marm 

Lisa  —  Vesty  of  the  Basins  —  Bram  of 

the  Five  Comers  —  Heritages  of  the  Lord 

V.  The  Case  fob  the  Feeble-Minded  .      .  169 

Give  them  a  Chance  —  Easy  to  Make 
Happy,  Safe,  and  Useful 


THE  ALMOSTS 


i 

I 
j 


CHAPTER  I 

SHAKESPEABE,  BUNTAN,  SCOTT 

SojiETiMEs  the  poet  sees  more  than  the  scien- 
tist, even  when  the  scientific  man  is  playing  at 
his  own  game.  The  novelist  can  give  a  few 
points  to  the  sociologist,  and  the  dramatist  to 
the  settlement  worker.  Had  the  voter  and  the 
legislator  studied  with  a  little  more  attention 
the  works  of  William  Shakespeare  and  Walter 
Scott  we  might  have  come  sooner  to  some  of 
the  alleged  discoveries  of  the  twentieth  century. 
Take  the  case  of  the  feeble-minded.  They 
have  been  drawn  from  life  more  than  once  by 
the  great  masters  aheady  mentioned,  as  well 
as  by  Charles  Dickens,  Victor  Hugo,  Charles 
Reade,  and  many  other  writers,  and  yet  so  far 
at  least  we  do  not  seem  to  have  taken  mentally 
defective  persons  in  the  world  as  seriously  as 
the  great  writers  who  immortalized  Wamba, 
Quasimodo,  Bamaby  Rudge,  Young  Sparkler, 
Mr.  Toots,  and  others,  by  giving  them  the 


i 


i: 


i, 


I 


«  THE  ALMOSTS 

entry  to  that  stage  which  the  world  may  al- 
ways watch  from  the  windows  of  the  Librar3\ 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  "fool,"  who 
is  so  often  mentioned  by  earlier  writers  and 
attained  his  greatest  vogue  in  the  fifteenth  and 
sixteenth  centuries,  was  in  many  cases  what 
we  now  call  a  high-grade  or  middle-grade  men- 
tal defective.  By  these  writers  the  words  "  fool " 
and  "clown"  are  used  almost  as  synonymous, 
though  the  fool  was  often  "a  mere  idiot  or 
natural,  and  the  clown  was  often  a  rustic  or 
shrewd  domestic." 

Fools  are  mentioned  in  the  Domesday  Book; 
the  Duke  of  Normandy  had  a  fool  or  court 
jester,  and  so  of  course  had  many,  if  not  all, 
British  sovereigns  at  that  time,  especially 
those  of  the  Stuart  line.  Many  anecdotes  are 
told  of  the  fools  of  James  I,  and  also  of  the  two 
fools  of  the  Court  of  Charles  I,  who  were  named 
Archie  Armstrong  and  Muckle  John. 

In  the  long  line  of  royal  fools  there  seems  to 
have  been  only  one  woman,  and  she  remained 
unknown  until  Mrs.  C.  C.  Stopes  drew  atten- 
tion to  her  in  an  interesting  article  in  the 
"Athenaeum"  in  August,  1905.  Jane  was  her 
name  and  she  was  attached  to  the  royal  house- 


THE  FOOL  8 

hold  of  Queen  Mary  from  1537  to  1558,  and 
attended  her  mistress  in  adversity  and  prosper- 
ity, being  attached  to  her  household  before  she 
became  queen.  Mrs.  Stopes  suggests  that  Queen 
Mary  may  have  made  this  appointment  from 
a  modest  objection  to  the  jests  of  her  father's 
fools,  or  more  likely  that  she  had  extended  her 
kind  protection  to  Jane  as  a  young  girl  who 
peculiarly  needed  her  help. 

There  seems  no  reason  to  regard  Jane,  whose 
paternal  name  is  unknown,  as  in  any  sense 
mentally  defective.  Her  wit  was  probably  more 
comforting  than  caustic,  and  all  we  really  know 
about  Jane  is  that  Queen  Mary  dressed  her 
beautifully  in  crimson  satin,  gold  brocade, 
linen,  white  satin,  red  silk,  French  gowns,  red 
satin  and  red  petticoats,  and  varied  and  mag- 
nificent slippers  and  shoes.  She  also  on  New 
Year's  Day  gave  a  New  Year's  gift  to  a  "wo- 
man dwelling  at  Burye  for  healing  Jane,  the 
Fool,  her  eye." 

Jane  had  black  satin  and  crimson  belts, 
Dutch  gowns  and  French  gowns,  twelve  pairs 
of  velvet  shoes,  silk  fringe,  green  silk;  and 
twelve  pairs  of  leather  shoes  were  bought  "for 
the  said  Jane,  our  Fool." 


4  THE  ALMOSTS 

In  the  English  drama,  both  before  and  after 
Shakespeare,  fools  are  introduced,  the  last 
play  in  which  this  was  the  case  being  Shad- 
well's  drama,  "The  Woman  Captain,"  in  1680. 
Shakespeare  followed  the  traditions  of  the 
drama  in  this  respect,  and  two,  at  least,  of  the 
fools  of  Shakespeare  are  among  his  triwnphs  — 
Touchstone  in  "All's  Well  that  Ends  Well" 
and  the  Fool  in  "Lear."  Touchstone  is  prob- 
ably mentally  defective,  but  it  is  quite  possible 
that  the  Fool  in  "Lear  "  may  have  been  insane; 
though  certain  of  his  words  and  actions  remind 
one  forcibly  of  a  mentally  defective  person. 
His  power  of  affection  is  remarkable.  So  it  often 
is  in  a  mental  defective. 

Lear's  Fool  is  Shakespeare's  own  creation. 
He  does  not  exist  in  the  original  from  which  a 
large  part  of  the  material  for  this  play  is  drawn. 
And  Shakespeare  makes  him  more  of  a  human 
being  than  other  dramatists  have  made  any  of 
their  fools,  thus  showing  himself  again  greatest 
ofaU. 


The  Pilgrim's  Pbogbess 
Among  the  great  company  of  people  in  this 
matchless  allegory  is  one  Mr.  Feeble-mind,  res- 


THE  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS 


M 


Giant  Slay- 
purpose 


cued  by  Mr.  Great-heart  from 
good,  who  "was  rifling  him,  with 
after  that  to  pick  hia  bones." 

It  does  not  appear,  however,  that  Mr. 
Feeble-mind  was  at  all  mentally  defective. 
He  was  a  nephew  of  Mr.  Fearing,  who  came 
from  the  town  of  Stupidity,  and  of  whom 
"father  Honest"  said,  "He  was  a  man  that 
had  the  Root  of  the  matter  in  him;  but  he  was 
one  of  the  most  troublesome  Pilgrims  that  ever 
I  met  with  in  all  my  days."  Great-heart,  who 
knew  Mr.  Fearing  well,  having  been  his  guide 
"from  my  Master's  house  to  the  gates  of  the 
Celestial  City,"  says  of  him:  "Everything 
f rightned  him  that  he  heard  any-body  speak  of, 
that  had  but  the  least  appearance  of  opposition 
in  it.  ...  He  had,  I  think,  a  Slough  of  Despond 
in  his  mind." 

Mr.  Feeble-mind  and  his  father  were  bom 
in  the  town  of  Uncertain,  but  he  had  that  firm- 
ness of  resolve  and  continuity  of  purpose  to 
which  mental  defectives  are  strangers.  He  says: 
"I  would,  if  I  could,  though  I  can  but  crawl, 
spend  my  life  in  the  Pilgrim's  Way  .  .  .  this 
I  have  resolved  on,  to  wit:  to  run  when  I  can, 
to  go  when  I  cannot  run,  and  to  creep  when  I 


f' 

■4. 


3 


11 


•  THE  ALMOSTS 

cannot  go  ...  my  Way  is  before  me,  my  mind 
is  beyond  the  River  that  has  no  bridge." 

He  was  evidently  regarded  as  an  equal  and 
companion  by  Gains  and  by  the  other  pilgrims. 
That  would  not  have  happened  if  he  had  been 
mentally  defective. 

"Then  Gaius  took  his  leave  of  them  all . . . 
and  particularly  of  Mr.  Feeble-mind." 

Great-heart  says:  "You  must  needs  go  along 
with  us,  we  will  wait  for  you." 

"  Mr.  Ready-to-halt  came  by, . . .  and  he  also 
was  going  on  Pilgrimage."  He  hails  Mr.  Feeble- 
mind  with  joy  and  says;  "I  shall  be  glad  of  thy 
company." 

Mr.  Feeble-mind  was  certainly  one  of  those 
referred  to  in  the  apostolic  injunction,  "Com- 
fort the  feeble-minded."  He  was  infirm  and  ir- 
resolute, undecided  and  easily  depressed,  but 
his  judgment  was  good  on  the  whole,  and  his 
reactions  normal.  The  words  in  which  he  bids 
his  friends  farewell  when  the  summons  comes 
for  him  to  cross  the  River  that  has  no  bridge 
are  suflScient  to  show  that  he  is  not  feeble- 
minded in  the  modem  sense  of  that  word,  but 
only  in  the  sense  in  which  the  apostle  used 
it,  somewhat  equivalent  to  Banyan's   term 


I, 

f 

it 


WAVERLEY 


«( 


chkken-heftrted,'*  or  to  the  modern  colloqui- 
alism, *'low  in  his  mind."  like  his  uncle,  Mr. 
Fearing,  he  had  "a  Slough  of  Despond  in  his 
mind";  but  like  him,  too,  he  never  had  any 
inclination  to  go  back  and  was  a  good  pilgrim 
to  the  end. 

Tlie  Shepherds,  however,  showed  to  Chris- 
tiana and  her  daughter-in-law,  Mercy,  "one 
Foolj  and  one  Want-vaUy  washing  of  an  EtkiO' 
pian  with  intention  to  mi  ike  him  white  but  the 
more  they  washed  him  the  blacker  he  was." 
This  is  much  more  like  the  picture  of  a  mental 
defective,  but  we  have  only  this  one  allusion  to 
Fool  and  Want-wit  in  John  Bunyan's  great 
allegory,  so  we  •^      ^ot  make  a  diagnasis. 


S 


WAvxBiiZnr 

Sir  Walter  Scott  introduces  Davie  Gellatley 
in  one  of  the  early  chapters  of  Waverley. 
Edward  Waverley  is  approaching  the  manor- 
house  of  Tully-Veolan  when  he  sees  poor  Davie 
afar  off,  and  is  struck  even  at  that  distance  with 
the  oddiiy  of  his  appearance.  This  impression 
deepens  as  Davie  draws  near.  His  gestures,  his 
gait,  and  his  attire  were  all  alike  grotesque. 

A  better  description  of  a  mentally  defective 


J 


N 


8  THE  ALM06TS 

man  if  scarcely  to  be  found  anywhere  than 
this  description  of  Davie  Gellatley.  "His  gait 
was  as  singular  as  his  gestures,  for  at  times  he 
hopped  with  great  perseverance  on  the  right 
foot,  then  exchanged  that  supporter  to  advance 
in  the  same  manner  on  the  left,  and  then  put- 
ting his  feet  close  together,  he  hopped  upon  both 
at  once.  His  attire,  also,  was  antiquated  and 
extravagant.  It  consisted  in  a  sort  of  grey 
jerkin,  with  scarlet  cuffs  and  slashed  sleeves, 
showing  a  scarlet  lining;  the  other  parts  of  the 
dress  corresponded  in  colour,  not  forgetting  a 
pair  of  scarlet  stockings,  and  a  scarlet  bonnet, 
proudly  surmounted  with  a  turkey's  feather. 
Edward,  whom  he  did  not  seem  to  observe, 
now  perceived  confirmation  in  his  features  of 
what  the  mien  and  gestures  had  already  an- 
nounced. It  was  apparently  neither  idiocy  nor 
insanity  which  gave  that  wild,  unsettled,  ir- 
regular expression  to  a  face  which  naturally 
was  rather  handsome,  but  something  that 
resembled  a  compoimd  of  both,  where  the  sim- 
plicity of  the  fool  was  mixed  with  the  extrava- 
gance of  a  crazed  imagination.  He  simg  with 
great  earnestness,  and  not  without  some  taste, 
a  fragment  of  an  old  Scotch  ditty." 


WAVERLEY 


0 


,1 


"He  is  an  innocent,  sir,"  said  the  butler; 
"there  is  one  such  in  almost  every  town  in  the 
country,  but  ours  b  brought  far  ben.  He  used 
to  work  a  day's  turn  weel  eneugh;  but  he  helped 
Miss  Rose  when  she  was  flemit  with  the  Laird 
of  Killancureit's  new  English  bull,  and  smce 
that  time  we  ca'  him  Davie  Do-little;  indeed 
we  might  ca'  him  David  Do-nsthing,  for  since 
he  got  that  gay  clothing,  to  please  bis  honour 
and  my  young  mistress  (great  folk*  will  have 
then:  fancies),  he  has  done  nothing  but  dance 
up  and  down  about  the  toum,  without  doing  a 
single  turn,  unless  trimming  the  laird's  fishing 
wand  or  busking  his  flies,  or  maybe  catching 
a  dish  of  trouts  at  an  orra-time." 
Sir  Walter  adds  the  following  footnote: 
'*I  am  ignorant  how  long  the  ancient  and 
established  custom  of  keeping  fools  has  been 
disused  in  England.  Swift  writes  an  epitaph 
on  the  Earl  of  Suffolk's  fool,  — 

'Whose  name  wm  Dickie  Fearce.' 

In  Scotland  the  custom  subsisted  till  late  in  the 
last  century.  At  Glammis  Castle  is  preserved 
the  dress  of  one  of  the  jesters,  very  handsome, 
and  ornamented  with  many  bells.  It  is  not 


i 


10 


THE  ALMOSTS 


above  thirty  years  since  such  a  character  stood 
by  the  side-board  of  a  nobleman  of  the  first 
rank  in  Scotland,  and  occasionally  mixed  in 
the  conversation,  till  he  carried  the  joke  rather 
too  far,  in  making  proposals  to  one  of  the  young 
ladies  of  the  family,  and  publishing  the  banns 
betwixt  her  and  himself  in  the  public  church." 

Davie  appears  but  little  in  the  course  of  the 
story  until,  the  ill-fated  rebellion  over,  Edward 
revisits  the  ruins  of  the  manor-house,  and 
recognizes  Davie's  voice  again  singing  an  old 
Scots  song.  On  calling  him  by  name,  the  poor 
fellow  appears,  then  hides  in  terror  until 
Waverley,  by  whistling  a  favorite  air,  induces 
him  to  reappear. 

"The  poor  fool  himself  appeared  the  ghost 
of  what  he  had  been.  The  peculiar  dress  in 
which  he  had  been  attired  in  better  days, 
showed  only  miserable  rags  of  its  whimsical 
finery,  the  lack  of  which  was  oddly  supplied  by 
the  remnants  of  tapestried  hangings,  window- 
curtains,  and  shreds  of  pictures,  with  which  he 
had  bedizened  his  tatters.  His  face,  too,  had 
lost  its  vacant  and  careless  air,  and  the  poor 
creature  looked  hollow-eyed,  meagre,  half- 
starved,  and  nervous  to  a  pitiable  degree.  — 


WAVERLEY 


11 


After  long  hesitation,  he  at  length  approached 
Waverley  with  some  confidence,  stared  him 
sadly  in  the  face,  and  said,  *A'  dead  and  gane 
—  a' dead  and  gane!'" 

Recognizing  Edward  as  a  true  friend,  Davie 
guides  him  to  the  Baron's  hiding-place.  On 
this  occasion,  Davie's  old  mother  has  an  oppor- 
tunity to  say  a  good  word  for  her  son,  telling 
Edward  that  she  supposes  he  never  knew  that 
all  the  eggs  which  were  so  well  roasted  at  the 
Hall-House  were  "turned  by  our  Davie"  — 
"there's  no  the  like  of  him  anywhere  for  roast- 
ing eggs." 

Davie  appears  for  the  last  time  in  this  great 
tale  after  the  wedding  of  Edward  and  Rose, 
when  he  comes  up  the  avenue  with  the  dogs 
to  meet  the  bridal  party,  "every  now  and  then 
stopping  to  admire  the  new  suit  which  graced 
his  person,  in  the  same  colours  as  formerly,  but 
bedizened  fine  enough  to  have  served  Touch- 
stone himself.  He  danced  up  with  his  usual  un- 
gainly frolics,  first  to  the  Baron,  and  then  to 
Rose,  passing  his  hands  over  his  clothes,  crying, 
'Bra',  Bra',  Davie,'  and  scarce  able  to  sing  a 
bar  to  an  end  of  his  thousand-and-one-songs, 
for  the  breathless  extravagance  of  his  joy." 


12 


THE  ALMOSTS 


r 


ii 


There  are  many  things  about  Davie  which 
recall  mental  defectives  we  have  all  known. 
His  gait,  his  gestures,  his  fondness  for  clothes 
and  notice  from  others,  the  fact  that  he  was 
clever  at  something  —  "there's  no  the  like  of 
him  anywhere  for  roasting  eggs"  — his  min- 
gled responsibility  and  irresponsibility,  his 
childlike  happiness,  and  his  fondness  for  music, 
in  which  he  has  some  little  skill.  The  last  trait 
is  an  important  one  in  very  many  mental  de- 
fectives and  should  never  be  let  sight  of  in 
their  training. 

IVANUOB 

Sir  Walter  Scott  had  a  keen  but  kindly  eye 
for  the  mental  defective.  Wamba  is  one  of  the 
masterpieces  in  the  portrait  gallery  of  the 
feeble-minded.  He  appears  in  the  first  chapter 
of  "Ivanhoe."  We  may  conjecture,  perhaps 
not  altogether  correctly,  that  Wamba  was  not 
responsible  for  his  foolish  attire,  but  the  de- 
scription of  his  expression  and  of  his  general 
appearance  we  recognize  at  once  as  giving  all 
the  essential  points  in  the  impression  which  a 
feeble-minded  person  makes  upon  us. 

"The  looks  of  Wamba,  on  the  other  hand, 


fi     ,!i 


IVANHOE 


13 


usual  with  his  class. 


of 


indicated, 

vacant  curiosity,  and  fidgetty  impatience  of 
any  posture  of  repose,  together  with  the  utmost 
self-satisfaction  respecting  his  own  situation, 
and  the  appearance  which  he  made." 

Very  characteristic  —  especially  the  self-sat- 
isfaction. Aflforded  the  shelter  of  his  master's 
roof  and  supported  by  his  master,  as  far  as 
food  and  clothing  are  concerned,  and  provided 
with  something  else  quite  as  dear  to  a  certain 
type  of  mental  defective,  namely,  the  oppor- 
tunity to  attract  attention  —  Wamba  was  the 
domesti  clown  of  Cedric  of  Rotherwood. 
Some  clovms  may  have  been  the  victims  of 
mental  disease,  some  nonnal,  but  playing  the 
clown's  part,  though  probably  the  majority 
were  really  high-grade  mental  defectives.  The 
attention  of  Wamba,  for  example,  in  this  open- 
ing chapter,  could  not  be  secured  for  more  than 
a  few  moments  at  a  time,  even  when  danger 
threatened  them,  and  in  the  second  chapter  it 
is  plainly  stated  that  he  "could  not  be  pre- 
vented from  lingering  occasionally  on  the  road." 

Those  who  have  worked  with  the  feeble- 
minded and  learned  by  personal  experience 
how  much  their  charges  need  constant  super- 


14 


THE  ALMOSTS 


vision  and  yet  are  not  always  willing  to  be 
directed  by  those  whose  powers  of  concentra- 
tion and  intelligence  exceed  their  own,  will 
sympathize  with  Gurth,  whose  efforts  to  keep 
out  of  the  way  of  the  approaching  cavalcade 
were  frustrated  by  the  foolishness  of  Wamba, 
as  anxious  to  be  in  the  midst  of  events  as  any 
"little  tiny  boy"  —  not  old  enough  to  know 
any  better  or  understand  the  danger. 

Wamba's  conversation  with  the  Abbot  and 
the  false  directions  which  he  gives  may  easily 
be  paralleled  in  the  present  day.  The  feeble- 
minded have  of  i^t  a  a  perverse  desire  to  make 
trouble  and  are  seldom  known  to  give  correct 
information  as  to  roads  and  houses.  They  will 
describe  houses  and  people  as  being  in  most 
fantastic  and  impossible  places.  A  feeble- 
n.  inded  girl  recently  pointed  a  stranger  directly 
to  a  wood  and  a  field  by  Lake  Ontario,  insisting 
that  her  mother  was  to  be  found  in  a  house 
south  of  the  wood.  She  had  lived  near  there  for 
years  and  must  have  known  that  there  was 
neither  a  house  nor  a  person  to  be  found  in 
that  direction. 

Not  a  whit  abashed  by  having  been  found 
guilty,  in  the  presence  of  his  master  Cedric  and 


IVANHOE 


15 


all  his  guests,  of  having  attempted  to  mislead 
the  Abbot  and  the  Templar,  Wamba  next  dis- 
tinguishes himself  by  acting  as  judge  of  the 
Templar's  attitude  to  the  Jew — "By  my 
faith,"  says  he,  "it  would  seem  the  Templars 
love  the  Jews*  inheritance  better  than  they  do 
their  company."  The  wit  evident  in  this  and 
many  other  remarks  from  Wamba  with  which 
Scott  enlivens  the  pages  of  "Ivanhoe"  furnish 
further  evidence  that  the  novelist  had  a  won- 
derfully accurate  knowledge  of  the  class  whom 
Wamba  represents.  Their  replies  frequently 
partake  of  the  nature  of  repartee. 

For  example,  among  the  inmates  of  an  in- 
stitution in  Ontario  are  about  thirty  feeble- 
minded women.  In  this  little  world  of  their  own 
each  has  her  own  place  and  personal  ascend- 
ancy. "You  are  eating  too  much,"  said  one  to 
another.  "That  does  not  make  any  difference 
to  you,  does  it?"  responded  the  rebuked  one. 
"You  are  not  paying  for  itl" 

This  partial  insight  into  the  meaning  of 
things  extends  even  into  their  own  situation 
and  their  own  mental  infirmities.  One  of  the 
same  group  of  girb  was  found  on  a  certain 
morning  madly  rushing  up  and  down  the  hall. 


16 


THE  ALMOSTS 


On  being  asked  what  was  the  matter  with  her 
she  said,  "I've  lost  my  pail  and  my  scrubbing 
brush  and  my  soap  —  I  need  more  brains,  that 
is  what  is  the  matter  with  me,  but  then  what  is 
the  use  of  my  wishing  I  had  more  brains  when 
I  don't  make  any  better  use  of  the  brains  I 
have." 

A  boy  who  was  a  very  high-grade  mental  de- 
fective, and  who  was  almost  but  not  altogether 
able  to  earn  his  own  living  when  he  grew  up, 
seemed  to  succeed  pretty  well  at  school  until 
the  class  reached  the  multiplication  table. 
All  one  winter,  night  after  night,  his  mother 
tried  to  teach  him  his  "tables."  Finally  the 
boy  said  to  her,  "It  is  no  use,  mother,  I  think 
the  arithmetic  comer  of  my  brain  was  never 
finished."  Could  any  one  have  expressed  it 
better? 


Wamba,  on  the  contrary,  says  little  or  noth- 
ing about  himself,  except  on  the  one  occasion 
referred  to  below.  He  does,  however,  possess 
some  insight  into  the  minds  and  lives  of  others, 
as  witness  his  remark  about  the  feelings  of  the 
Lady  Rowena  towards  Maurice  De  Bracy, 
when  the  latter  kneels  before  her  with  the 


IVANHOE 


17 


I     ! 


words,  "Conquest,  lady,  should  soften  the 
heart.  Let  me  but  know  that  the  Lady  Row- 
ena  forgives  the  violence  occasioned  by  an 
ill-fated  passion,  and  she  shall  soon  learn  that 
De  Bracy  knows  how  to  serve  her  in  nobler 

ways." 
"I  forgive  you.  Sir  Knight,"  said  Rowena, 

"as  a  Christian." 

"That  means,"  said  Wamba,  "that  she  does 
not  forgive  him  at  all." 

A  still  more  striking  instance  is  found  in  the 
remark  of  Wamba  when  he  found  himself  free 
after  Cedric,  Athelstane,  Lady  Rowena,  the 
Jew,  and  his  daughter  had  all  fallen  an  easy 
prey  to  Front-de-Boeuf  and  his  cruel  allies  — 
"I  have  heard  men  talk  of  the  blessmgs  of 
freedom,"  said  Wamba,  "but  I  wish  any  wise 
man  would  teach  me  what  use  to  make  of  it 
now  that  I  have  it." 

The  eugenist  and  others  who  study  heredity 
may  be  interested  in  the  reply  of  Wamba  to 
Prince  John  at  the  Tournament.  "Who  and 
what  art  thou,  noble  champion?"  said  Prmce 
John,  still  laughing. 

"A  fool  by  right  of  descent,"  answered  the 
Jester.  "I  am  Wamba  the  Son  of  Witless,  who 


18 


THE  ALMOSTS 


was  the  son  of  Weatherbrain»  who  was  the  son 
of  an  alderman." 

Mischief-makers  as  the  feeble-minded  often 
are,  it  is  somewhat  characteristic  of  them  to 
make  good-natured  remarks,  tending  to  soothe 
the  anger  and  rage  of  those  with  whom  they 
are.  Wamba  frequently  shows  himself  in  this 
character,  and  indeed  Sir  Walter  remarks  in 
chapter  xviii  that  he  "was  frequently  wont  to 
act  as  peacemaker  in  the  family."  He  tries  to 
persuade  Gurth  that  Cedric  did  not  really  mean 
to  kill  his  dog,  Fangs.  "To  my  thinking  now," 
says  Wamba,  "our  Master  did  not  propose  to 
hurt  Fangs,  but  only  to  affright  him."  The 
same  quality  is  shown  again  in  his  request  to 
Cedric  a  little  later  to  forgive  Gurth. 

But  in  both  of  these  last-mentioned  incidents 
we  have  anticipated  the  course  of  the  st'^y. 
Wamba's  greatest  distinction  in  the  narrative 
comes  in  connection  with  the  part  he  plays  in 
the  rescue  of  Cedric  from  the  castle  and  again 
when  he  is  the  companion  of  King  Richard  the 
Lion-Hearted  himself.  In  the  former  it  will  be 
remembered  that  the  jester,  disguised  as  a 
priest,  is  sent  into  the  castle  of  Front-de- 
Bceuf  where  Cedric  is  imprisoned.  Here  we 


IVANHOE 


19 


t| 


have  once  more 


rue  touch  from  the  master 

^^^  ^ jxactly  what  happens  every 

d^  to  the  feeble-minded.  People  can  persuade 
them  to  do  anything.  They  are  very  open  to 
suggestion,  and  it  is  not  always  somethmg 
noble  that  is  proposed  to  them  by  their  moni- 
tors, but  far  more  frequently  a  petty  crime, 
such  as  pilfering,  or  more  serious  oflfenses, 
such  as  starting  incendiary  fires  of  bams  or 
houses  or  placing  obstructions  on  railway  lines 
which  may  cause  accidents  involving  a  loss 
of  many  lives.  Wamba,  true  to  his  character, 
follows  the  line  of  conduct  which  he  sees  his 
three  allies  wish  him  to  take,  and  it  is  m  con- 
nection with  this  that  we  learn  somethmg  of  his 
history.  It  must  here  be  remarked,  however, 
that  in  reference  to  his  alUes  at  this  time 
Wamba  confides  to  Gurth  his  plain  opinion  of 
them  all,  great  and  small.  They  are,  of  course, 
the  Black  Knight,  who  is  finally  discovered  to 
be  King  Richard  hunself.  Friar  Tuck  and 
Locksley,  alias  Robin  Hood.  Here  h  Wam- 
ba's  summing-up  of  them,  "I  trust  the  valour 
of  the  knight  will  be  truer  metal  than  the 
relifc-on  of  the  hermit  or  the  honesty  of  the 
yeoman;  for  this  Locksley  looks  like  a  bora 


w 


«0  THE  ALMOSTS 

deer-stealer  and  the  priest  like  a  lusty  hypo, 
crite." 

This  is  another  example  of  the  knowledge 
and  msight  of  the  creator  of  Locksley  and  of 
the  host  of  other  characters  who  people  the 
worid  of  the  Waverley  Novels.  The  feeble- 
minded often  have  the  same  instinctive  knowl- 
edge of  character  that  children  have.  Near  the 
old  Gordon  farm  at  Bayside,  on  Lake  Ontario, 
there  lived  all  his  life  a  man  who  was  cared  for 
and  looked  after  like  a  child  by  the  farmer  and 
his  family.  He  was  a  good  worker,  as  almost  all 
the  feeble-minded  who  have  had  good  training 
are,  and  every  one  who  came  to  the  house  knew 
that  he  was  a  remarkably  accurate  judge  of 
character.  It  used  to  be  said  by  the  family  that 
they  never  made  up  their  minds  about  any  one 
who  came  their  way  before  they  had  asked  this 
man  what  he  thought  of  ihe  newcomer,  and 
that  they  had  never  known  his  opinion  to  be 
wrong. 


To  return  to  "Ivanhoe."  It  will  be  remem- 
bered that  the  letter  sent  by  Front-de-Boeuf 
and  his  friends  to  the  besiegers  of  the  castle 
required  them  to  send  a  priest  to  reconcile 


IVANHOE 


21 


Cedric  and  Athelstane  to  God»  as  they  were  to 
be  executed  before  noon.  The  hermit  absolutely 
declined  this  opportunity  and  the  rest  looked 
one  at  another,  but  Wamba,  seeing  very  well 
what  the  others  wished,  remarked  that  he 
"  was  bred  to  be  a  friar,  until  a  brain  fever  came 
upon  me  and  left  me  with  just  wit  enough  to 
be  a  fool." 

How  like  histories  which  have  been  written 
thousands  of  times  in  every  large  institution 
for  the  care  of  the  feeble-minded  throughout 
the  landl  There  has  always  been  some  illness 
or  a  convulsion,  or,  most  favorite  story  of  all, 
"A  very  bright  baby  before  he  had  a  fall,  but 
never  the  same  since."  It  is  very  likely  that 
these  are  in  every  case  correct  thus  far  that 
the  recorded  illness  or  accident  did  take  place, 
but  it  was  not  the  real  cause  of  the  feeble- 
mindedness. That  lies  much  farther  back. 

Once  in  the  presence  of  Cedric,  having 
gained  entrance  to  the  castle  in  the  disguise 
of  a  priest,  there  shines  out  in  Wamba  that 
affection,  which  is  the  noblest  quality  of  a 
human  being,  and  in  which  the  feeble-minded, 
with  the  one  exception  of  the  moral  imbecile, 
arc  perhaps  not  wanting  any  of  tener  than  their 


11 


M 


THE  AIMOSTS 


normal  fellows.  Poor  Wamba  has  made  up  his 
mind  to  die  in  his  master's  room  and  stead  and 
finally  persuades  Cedric  to  accept  this  generous 
sacrifice.  Nor  would  he  listen  to  Cedric's  plea 
that  Wamba  should  die  in  the  stead  of  Athel- 
stane,  saying,  "I'll  hang  for  no  man  but  my 
own  bom  master."  Mental  defectives  are  ex- 
ceedir  /  and  unselfishly  affectionate,  with  a 
touching  and  childlike  submission  to  and  de- 
light in  the  kindness  of  those  older  or  wiser 
than  themselves.  They  can  in  almost  every 
instance  be  guided  by  this  childlike  affection 
all  through  their  lives,  by  those  who  care  for 
and  understand  them,  and  the  exceptions  to 
this  rule  are  usually  mental  defectives  who 
have  been  neglected  and  allowed  to  become 
criminal  or  immoral  in  habit  and  life.  Once  a 
taste  has  been  acquired  for  evil  things,  it  is  not 
easily  lost.  But  if  the  mentally  defective  are 
cared  for  and  sheltered  from  childhood  up, 
their  tastes  remain  the  simple  and  innocent 
taster  of  childhood. 

To  return  again  to  the  story.  Cedric  dons  the 
priest's  vestments  and  esc^es  first,  but  in  the 
successful  assault  which  takes  place  immedi- 
ately, Wamba  is  also  rescued  and  comes  to 


IVANHOE 


fa 


great  honor  as  the  escort  of  the  disguised  king. 
The  last  description  of  him  is  given  at  the  time 
when  he  accompanies  the  king  as  his  guide. 
This  is  again  a  perfectly  correct  study  of  a 
certain  type  of  the  feeble-minded. 

"Indeed,  the  infirmity  of  Wamba's  brain 
consisted  chiefly  in  a  kind  of  impatient  irri- 
tability, which  suffered  him  not  long  to  remain 
quiet  in  any  posture,  or  to  adhere  to  any  certain 
train  of  ideas,  although  he  was  for  a  few  min- 
utes alert  enough  in  performing  any  immediate 
task,  or  in  apprehending  any  immediate  topic. 
On  horseback,  therefore,  he  was  perpetually 
swinging  himself  backwards  and  forwards,  now 
on  the  horse's  ears,  then  anon  on  the  very  rump 
of  the  animal,  now  hanging  both  his  legs  on  one 
side,  and  now  sitting  with  his  face  to  the  tail, 
moping,  mowing,  and  making  a  thousand  apish 
ge^lui'es,  until  his  paKrey  took  his  freaks  so 
much  to  heart,  as  fairly  to  lay  him  at  his  length 
on  the  green  grass  —  an  incident  which  greatly 
amused  the  knight,  but  compelled  his  compan- 
ion to  ride  more  steadily  thereafter." 

Wamba  helps  to  secure  the  safety  of  the  king, 
and  finally  appears  "decorated  with  a  new  cap 
and  a  most  gorgeous  set  of  silver  bells  "  at  the 


M 


THE  ALMOSTS 


wedding  of  Ivanhoe  and  the  Lady  Rowena. 
The  last  words  addressed  to  him  in  the  story 
are  those  pronounced  by  King  Richard  — 
"Thy  good  service  shall  not  be  forgotten." 
We  may  well  take  them  to  heart,  for  it  is  in  tht 
power  of  the  feeble-minded  to  do  us  and  them- 
selves good  service  if  we  undertake  their  care 
and  training  in  childhood,  and  continue  it  all 
through  their  lives. 

The  Heabt  of  Mto-Lothian 
The  readers  of  Sir  Walter  Scott's  novels  will 
not  fail  to  remember  the  Laird  of  Dumbie- 
dikes,  whose  death  occurs  in  the  early  part  of 
the  story.  His  son  and  heir,  afterwards  Laird, 
is  described  on  that  occasion  as  a  dull,  silly 
boy  of  fourteen  or  fifteen.  He  is  as  nearly  as 
possible  a  "border-line  case." 

When  David  Deans  left  Woodend.  the  new 
Laird  was  hardly  able  to  understand  the 
announccL^ent;  although  he  had  seen  the  fur- 
niture moved  the  day  before,  he  presented  him- 
self the  following  day  "before  the  closed  door 
of  the  cottage  at  Woodend,  and  seemed  as 
much  astonished  at  finding  it  shut  against  his 
approach  as  if  it  was  not  exactly  what  he  had  to 


jiV. 


THE  HEART  OF  MH)-LOTHIAN       25 

expect.  On  this  occasion  he  was  heard  to  ejacu- 
late *  Gude  guide  us,'  which,  by  those  who  knew 
him,  was  considered  as  a  very  unusual  mark 
of  emotion.  From  that  moment  forward  Dum- 
biedikes  became  an  altered  man,  and  the  regu- 
larity of  his  movements,  hitherto  so  exemplary, 
was  as  totally  disconcerted  as  those  of  a  boy's 
watch  when  he  has  broken  the  main-spring. 
Like  the  index  of  the  said  watch  did  Dumbie- 
dikes  spin  round  the  whole  bounds  of  his  Uttle 
property,  which  may  be  likened  unto  the  dial 
of  the  timepiece,  with  unwonted  velocity. 
There  was  not  a  cottage  into  which  he  did  not 
enter,  nor  scarce  a  maiden  on  whom  he  did  not 
stare.  But  so  it  was,  that  although  there  were 
better  farmhouses  on  the  land  than  Woodend, 
and  certainly  much  prettier  girls  than  Jeanie 
Deans,  yet  it  did  somehow  befall  that  the  blank 
in  the  Laird's  time  was  not  so  pleasantly  filled 
up  as  it  had  been.  There  was  no  seat  accommo- 
dated him  so  well  as  the  'bunker'  at  Woodend, 
and  no  face  he  loved  so  much  to  gaze  on  as 
Jeanie  Deans's.  So,  after  spinning  round  and 
round  his  little  orbit,  and  then  remaining  sta- 
tionary for  a  week,  it  seems  to  have  occurred 
to  him  that  he  was  not  pinned  down  to  circu- 


v., 


26 


THE  ALMOSTS 


late  on  a  pivot,  like  the  hands  of  the  watch,  but 
possessed  the  power  of  shifting  his  central 
point,  and  extending  his  circle  if  he  thought 
proper.  To  realize  which  privilege  of  change  of 
place,  he  bought  a  pony  from  a  Highland 
drover,  and  with  its  assistance  and  company 
stepped,  or  rather  stumbled,  as  far  as  Saint 
Leonard's  Crags. 

"The  Laird's  diurnal  visits  were  disagreeable 
to  Je^e  from  apprehension  of  future  conse- 
quences, and  it  served  much  to  console  her, 
upon  removing  from  the  spot  where  she  was 
bred  and  bom»  that  she  had  seen  the  last  of 
Dumbiedikes,  his  laced  hat,  and  tobacco-pipe. 
The  poor  girl  no  more  expected  he  could  muster 
courage  to  follow  her  to  Saint  Leonard's  Crags 
than  that  any  of  her  apple  trees  or  cabbages 
which  she  had  left  rooted  in  the  'yard'  at 
Woodend  would  spontaneously,  and  unaided, 
have  undertaken  the  same  journey.  It  was 
therefore  with  much  more  surprise  than  pleas- 
ure, that,  on  the  sixth  day  after  their  removal 
to  Saint  Leonard's,  she  beheld  Dumbiedikes 
arrive,  laced  hat,  tobacco-pipe,  and  all,  and, 
with  the  self-same  greeting  of  'How's  all  wi' 
ye,  Jeanie?  —  Where's  the  gudeman?*  assume 


TEE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN       27 

as  nearly  as  he  could  the  same  position  'n  the 
cottage  at  Saint  Leonard's  which  he  had  so  long 
and  so  regularlj  iccupied  at  Woodend.  He  was 
no  sooner,  however,  seated,  than  with  an  un- 
usual exertion  of  his  powers  of  conversation, 
he  added,  'Jeanie  — I  3ay,  Jeanie,  woman,' 
here  he  extended  his  hand  towards  her  shoul- 
der with  all  the  fingers  spread  out  as  if  to 
clutch  it,  but  m  so  bashful  and  awkward  a 
manner,  vhat  when  she  whisked  herself  be- 
yond its  reach,  the  paw  remained  suspended 
in  the  air  with  the  pahn  open,  like  the  claw  of 
a  heraldic  griflSn —  *  Jeanie,*  continued  the 
swain  in  this  moment  of  inspiration  —  *I  say, 
Jeanie,  it's  a  braw  day  outby,  id  the  roads 
are  no  that  ill  fo'  hoot-hose." 
If  this  is  not  mv    tal  defect,  it  is  pretty  close 

to  it! 

When  the  tr»^edy  falls  upon  the  family, 
"even  DumlJedikes  was  moved  from  his 
wonted  apathy,  and,  groping  for  his  purse  as 
he  spoke,  ejaculated,  'Jeanie,  woman  1  — 
Jeanie  woman  I  dinna  greet  —  it's  sad  wark, 
but  siller  will  help  it';  and  he  drew  out  his 
purse  as  he  spoke." 

This  is  not  the  only  occasion  when  the  Laird 


i)  ! 


28 


THE  ALMOSTS 


offered  m<  /.  On  one  occasion  he  even  men- 
tioned thirty  pounds.  He  was,  however,  unable 
to  manage  his  horse,  when  anxious  to  follow 
Jeanie  on  her  journey.  "I  wad  gang  too,"  said 
the  landed  proprietor,  in  an  anxious,  jealous, 
and  repining  tone,  "but  my  powny  winna  for 
the  life  o'  me  gang  ony  other  road  than  just 
frae  Dimibiedikes  to  this  house-end,  and  sae 
straight  back  again." 

When  Jeanie  Deans  finds  it  necessary  to 
avail  herself  of  the  offer  of  the  Laird  to  lend  her 
money,  she  is  not  well  treated  by  Mrs.  Bal- 
christie.  For  once  the  Laird  finds  his  tongue, 
and  makes  short  work  of  putting  his  house- 
keeper in  her  place.  When  Jeanie  tells  of  walk- 
ing twenty  miles,  he  is  quite  upset,  and  still 
more  so  when  she  tells  of  London  and  the 
queen.  "Lunnon  —  and  the  queen  —  and  her 
sister's  life  I"  said  Dumbiedikes,  whistling  for 
very  amazement —  "the  lassie's  demented." 

The  Laird  opens  his  leathern  money  bags  — 
"This  is  my  bank,  Jeanie  lass,"  he  said,  look- 
ing first  at  her  and  then  at  the  treasure,  with 
an  air  of  great  complacency,  —  "nane  o* 
your  gold-smith's  bills  for  me  —  they  bring 
folk  to  ruin." 


THE  HEART  OF  Mm-LOTHIAN      29 

Then,  suddenly  changing  the  tone,  he 
resolutely  said  — "  Jeanie,  I  will  make  you 
Lady  Dumbiedikes  afore  the  sun  sets,  and  ye 
may  ride  to  Lunnon  in  your  ain  coach,  if  you 
like." 

"Na,  Laird,"  said  Jeanie,  "that  can  never 
be  —  my  father's  grief  —  my  sister's  situation 
—  the  discredit  to  you." 

"That's  my  business,"  said  Dumbiedikes; 
"ye  wad  say  naething  about  that  if  you  werena 
a  fule  —  and  yet  I  like  ye  the  better  for 't  —  ae 
wise  body's  enough  in  the  married  state.  But 
if  your  heart's  ower  fu*,  take  what  silver  will 
serve  ye,  and  let  it  be  when  ye  come  back 
again  —  as  gude  syne  as  sune.'* 

"But,  Laird,"  said  Jeanie,  who  felt  the 
necessity  of  being  explicit  with  so  extraordi- 
nary a  lover,  "I  like  another  man  better  than 
you,  and  I  canna  marry  ye.'* 

"Another  man  better  than  me,  Jeanie!" 
said  Dumbiedikes  —  "how  is  that  possible? 
It's  no  possible,  woman,  ye  hae  ken'd  me  sae 
lang." 

Perhaps  the  Laird  thus  vindicated  himself, 
and  shows  himself  to  be,  after  all,  on  the  right 
side  of  the  border-line.  At  all  events  he  helped 


'' 


di 


90  THE  ALMOSTS 

Jeanie  to  make  the  journey  which  saved  her 
sister's  life  and  gave  her  the  means  of  personal 
intercession  with  the  queen  herself,  as  told  in 
that  scene  which  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
passages  in  the  writings  of  Sir  Walter  Scott. 


;l  i 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  MENTAL  DEFECTIVES  OF  DICKENS 

There  are  many  of  the  works  of  Charles 
Dickens  which  contain  sketches  of  feeble- 
minded persons  —  "Little  Dorrit,"  "Barnaby 
Rudge,"  "Nicholas  Nickleby,"  "Our  Mutual 
Friend,"  "Dombey  and  Son,"  "Bleak  House," 
and  others.  In  none  of  these  are  these  sketches 
more  true  to  life  than  in  "Little  Dorrit." 


Ltftle  Dobbtt 
Maggy  appears  before  Little  Dorrit  and 
Arthur  Clennam,  when  they  are  taking  almost 
their  first  walk  together,  as  a  strange  figure 
excitedly  calling  Little  Dorrit  "Little  Mother," 
and  falling  down,  scattering  into  the  mud  the 
contents  of  a  large  basket  of  potatoes.  Little 
Dorrit  speaks  softly  to  the  poor  child,  saying, 
'  ■  Vhat  a  clumsy  child  you  are,"  and  every- 
body then  helps  to  pick  up  the  potatoes,  Maggy 
picking  up  a  very  few  potatoes  and  a  large 
quantity  of  mud  and  smearing  her  face  with 
her  muddy  shawl. 


II   i 


»l  THE  ALMOSTS 

There  are  few  descriptions  of  a  mental  de- 
fective in  literature  more  accurate  in  every 
respect  than  this  one. 

"She  was  about  eighc  and  twenty,  with  large 
bones,  large  features,  large  feet  and  hands, 
large  eyes  and  no  hair.  Her  large  eyes  were 
limpid  and  almost  colourless;  they  seemed  to  be 
very  little  aflfected  by  light,  and  to  stand  un- 
naturally still.  There  was  also  that  attentive 
listening  expression  in  her  face,  which  is  seen 
in  the  faces  of  the  blind;  but  she  was  not  blind, 
having  one  tolerably  serviceable  eye.  Her  face 
was  not  exceedingly  ugly,  though  it  was  only 
redeemed  from  being  so  by  a  smile;  a  good- 
humoured  smile  and  pleasant  in  itself,  but 
rendered  pitiable  by  being  constantly  there. 
A  great  white  cap,  with  a  quantity  of  opaque 
frilling  that  was  always  flapping  about,  apolo- 
gized for  Maggy's  baldness,  and  made  it  so  very 
difficult  for  her  old  black  bonnet  to  retain  its 
place  upon  her  head,  that  it  held  on  round  her 
neck  Uke  a  gypsy's  baby.  A  commission  of 
haberdashers  alone  could  have  reported  what 
the  rest  of  her  poor  dress  was  made  of;  but  it 
had  a  strong  general  resemblance  to  sea-weed, 
with  here  and  there  a  gigantic  tea-leaf.  Her 


LITTLE  DORRIT 


8S 


shawl  looked  particularly  like  a  tea-leaf,  after 
long  infusion." 

Little  Dorrit  tells  Arthur  that  Maggy  is  the 
granddaughter  of  her  own  old  nurse,  and  then 
says,  "Maggy,  how  old  are  you?"  "Ten. 
mother,"  said  Maggy.  And  then  Little  Dorrit 
with   infinite  tenderness  adds,   "You  can't 

think  how  good  she  is,  or  how  clever She 

goes  on  errands  as  well  as  any  one,  and  is  as 
trustworthy  as  the  Bank  of  England.  She  earns 
her  own  living  entirely." 

Arthur  asks  what  Maggy's  history  is,  and 
Maggy  replies,  "Little  Mother."  When  asked 
to  tell  about  her  grandmother,  Maggy  shook 
her  head,  made  a  drinking-vessel  of  her 
clenched  left  hand,  drank  out  of  it  and  said, 
"Gin."  Then  beat  an  imaginary  child  and  said, 
"Broom-handles  and  pokers." 

"When  Maggy  was  ten  years  old,"  said 
Little  Dorrit,  watching  her  face  while  she 
spoke,  "she  had  a  bad  fever,  sir,  and  she  has 
never  grown  any  older  ever  since." 

Little  Dorrit  then  explained  that  Maggy 
"  was  never  to  be  more  than  ten  years  old  how- 
ever long  she  lived." 

This  is  an  interesting  forecast  or  prophecy  of 


84 


THE  ALMOSTS 


the  "mental  age'*  that  we  now  hear  so  much 
of.  After  all,  novelists  and  poets  are  the  best 
teachers,  and  experts  would  do  well  to  learn 
from  them. 

Finally  Little  Dorrit  states  that,  "At  length, 
in  course  of  time,  Maggy  began  to  take  pains 
to  improve  herself,  and  to  be  very  attentive  and 
very  industrious;  and  by  degrees  was  allowed 
to  come  in  and  out  as  often  as  she  liked,  and 
got  enough  to  do  to  support  herself.  *  And  that,' 
said  Little  Dorrit,  clapping  the  two  great 
hands  together  again,  *is  Maggy's  history  as 
Miaggy  knows!' 

"Ah I  But  Arthur  would  have  known  what 
was  wanting  to  its  completeness,  though  he 
had  never  heard  the  words  'Little  Mother'; 
though  he  had  never  seen  the  fondling  of  the 
small  spare  hand;  though  he  had  had  no  sight 
for  the  tears  now  standing  in  the  colourless  eyes ; 
though  he  had  had  no  hearing  for  the  sob  that 
checked  the  clumsy  laugh.  The  dirty  gateway 
with  the  wind  and  rain  whistling  through  it, 
and  the  basket  of  muddy  potatoes  waiting  to 
be  spilt  again  or  taken  up,  never  seemed  the 
common  hole  it  really  was,  when  he  looked 
back  to  it  by  these  lights.  Never,  never  I" 


LITTLE  DORRIT 


85 


All  this  again  is  an  anticipation  by  the  great 
writer  of  the  results  of  modem  study  and  train- 
ing, down  to  the  very  latest  plans  of  those  who 
rightly  hold  that  there  are  not  a  few  of  the 
feeble-minded  who  can  be  trained  and  super- 
vised so  as  to  make  them  safe  in  the  commu- 
nity under  the  supervision  of  such  a  person  aa 
Little  Dorrit,  or  who  can  live  in  an  institution 
and  be  allowed  to  go  out  by  the  day  to  work  if 
they  are  escorted  to  and  fro  by  some  kind  and 
reliable  person,  thus  earning  their  own  living 
more  or  less. 


■i 
i 


Another  character  in  "Little  Dorrit"  of 
supreme  interest  to  us  in  the  study  of  mental 
defectives  is  the  great  Mrs.  Merdle's  son. 
Young  Sparkler,  who  first  appears  in  the  story 
by  proxy,  as  it  were,  in  a  conversation  between 
the  delightful  Fanny  and  Mrs.  Merdle,  at 
which  Little  Dorrit  is  present.  Fanny  requests 
Mrs.  Mevdle  to  let  her  sister  know,  "that  I 
had  already  had  the  honour  of  telling  your  son 
that  I  wished  to  have  nothing  whatever  to 
say  to  him."  And  when  the  interview  is  over 
and  Mrs.  Merdle  has  mentioned  that  she  had 
taken  a  bracelet  from  her  arm  and  clasped  it 


86 


THE  ALMOSTS 


r; 


on  Fanny's,  and  that  Fanny  "was  so  obliging 
as  to  allow  me  to  present  her  with  a  mark  or 
two  of  my  appreciation  at  my  dressmaker's, 
and  when  the  sisters  came  downstairs  with 
powder  before  and  powder  behind  and  were 
shut  out  into  unpowdered  Harley  Stree'  Cav- 
endish Square,  Little  Dorrit  stammered  out, 
*You  did  not  like  this  young  man,  Fanny!' 
'Like  him,'  said  Fanny,  'he  is  almost  an 
idiot."' 

Thus  accurately  does  the  fair  Fanny  make 
a  diagnosis  of  the  modem  moron. 

Edmund  Sparkler  himself  scarcely  appears 
in  person  before  chapter  xxxiii,  and  his  inane 
conversation  about  a  girl  with  no  nonsense 
about  her  confirms  Fanny's  opinion. 

In  Book  n,  when  riches  have  overtaken 
the  Dorrits  and  opened  the  prison  doors  for 
them,  the  entourage  of  Mrs.  Merdle  and  her 
distinguished  son  Mr.  Edtnund  Sparkler  col- 
lides with  the  Dorrit  entourage  over  the  right  to 
a  suite  of  rooms  somewhere  in  Italy,  and  Young 
Sparkler  protests  to  Edward  Dorrit,  Esquire, 
"Let  you  and  I  trv^  to  make  this  all  right.  Lady 
so  very  much  wishes  no  Row." 

At  this  moment  Edmund  catches  sight  of 


LITTLE  DORRIT 


87 


) ." 


Misb  Fanny  herself  and  stands  rooted  to  the 
ground,  even  the  maternal  command  failing 
to  put  him  in  motion,  so  fixed  were  his  feet. 

However  agreeable  this  encounter  was  to 
Miss  Fanny  and  however  much  it  gave  her  to 
think  of,  there  are  few  who  will  read  this  pas- 
sage without  remembering  types  of  mental 
defectives  very  much  like  Young  Sparkler. 
This  is  not  the  voluble  type  of  moron.  One  of 
the  most  interesting  things  about  this  type  is 
the  superhuman  efforts  made  by  them  to  think 
and  talk  as  shown  above,  and  again  in  con- 
versation, for  example,  with  Mr.  Dorrit,  when 
the  former  inquired  what  Mr.  Henry  Gowan 
painted,  "Mr.  Sparkler  opined  that  he  painted 
anything  if  he  could  get  the  job." 

Miss  Fanny,  like  other  ladies  known  to 
novelists,  had  ideas  of  her  own,  and  one  eve- 
ning remarked  to  her  sister,  "Amy,  I  am  going 
to  put  something  into  your  little  head ! . . .  And 
remember  my  words.  Mrs.  General  has  designs 
on  Pa."  Overruling  all  Amy's  scruples  we  come 
in  the  conversation  to  the  following  master- 
piece: 

"At  least,  you  may  be  mistaken,  Fanny. 
Now,  may  you  not?  " 


•I 


88 


THE  ALMOSTS 


•  I 


"Oh,  yes,  I  may  be,"  said  Fanny,  "but  I  am 
not.  However,  I  am  glad  you  can  contemplate 
such  an  escapje,  my  dear,  and  I  am  glad  that 
you  can  take  this  for  the  present  with  sufficient 
coolness  to  think  of  such  a  chance.  It  makes 
me  hope  that  you  may  be  able  to  bear.  ...  I 
should  not  try.  I'd  marry  Yoimg  Sparkler 
first." 

"Oh,  you  would  never  marry  him,  Fanny, 
under  any  circumstances." 

"Upon  my  word,  my  dear,"  rejoined  that 
young  lady,  with  exceeding  indifference,  "I 
would  n't  positively  answer  even  for  that. 
There's  no  knowing  what  might  happen. 
Especially  as  I  would  have  many  opportuni- 
ties, afterwards,  of  treating  that  woman,  his 
mother,  in  her  own  style.  Which  I  most  decid- 
edly should  not  be  slow  to  avail  myself  of. 
Amy." 

Mr.  Sparkler  was  so  fortunate  as  to  persuade 
Fanny  to  take  care  of  him,  even  though  Amy 
went  so  far  as  to  say,  "Dear  Fanny,  let  me  say 
first,  that  I  would  far  rather  we  worked  for  a 
scanty  living  again,  than  I  would  see  you  rich 
and  married  to  Mr.  Sparkler." 

"Thenceforward,  Amy  observed  Mr.  Spark- 


LITTLE  DORBIT 


89 


ler's  treatment  by  his  enslaver,  with  new  rea- 
sons for  attaching  importance  to  all  that 
passed  between  them.  There  were  times  when 
Fanny  appeared  quite  unable  to  endure  his 
mental  feebleness,  and  when  she  became  so 
sharply  impatient  of  it  that  she  would  all  but 
dismiss  him  for  good.  There  were  other  times 
when  she  got  on  much  better  with  him;  when 
he  amused  her  and  when  her  sense  of  superior- 
ity seemed  to  counterbalance  that  opposite 
side  of  the  scale.  If  Mr.  Sparkler  had  been 
other  than  the  f aithf ullest  and  most  submissive 
of  swains,  he  was  sufficiently  hard-pressed  to 
have  fled  from  the  scene  of  his  trials,  and  to 
have  set  at  least  the  whole  distance  from  Rome 
to  London  between  himself  and  his  enchan- 
tress. But  he  had  no  greater  will  of  his  own 
than  a  boat  has  when  it  is  towed  by  a  steam- 
ship; and  he  followed  his  cruel  mistress  through 
rough  and  smooth,  on  equally  strong  com- 
pulsion. 

"It  might  have  been  a  month  or  six  weeks 
after  the  night  of  the  advice,  when  Little 
Dorrit  began  to  think  she  detected  some  new 
understanding  between  Mr.  Sparkler  and 
Fanny.  Mr.  Sparkler,  as  if  in  adherence  to 


\ 


40 


THE  ALMOSTS 


- 1 

it 


'I 


some  compact,  scarcely  ever  spoke  without 
first  looking  towards  Famiy  for  leave.  That 
young  lady  was  too  discreet  ever  to  look  back 
again;  but,  if  Mr.  Sparkler  had  permission  to 
speak,  she  remained  silent;  if  he  had  not,  she 
herself  spoke.  Moreover,  it  became  plain  that 
whenever  Henry  Gowan  attempted  to  perform 
the  friendly  oflSce  of  drawing  him  out,  that  he 
was  not  to  be  drawn.  And  not  only  that,  but 
Fanny  would  presently,  without  any  pointed 
application  in  the  world,  chance  to  say  some- 
thing with  such  a  sting  in  it,  that  Gowan 
would  draw  back  as  if  he  had  put  his  hand  into 
a  bee-hive." 

In  one  conversation  in  which  Mr.  Sparkler 
endeavors  to  assert  himself  he  assures  Amy 
five  times  that  "There  is  no  nonsense  about 
Fanny I" 

One  rather  thinks  that  more  than  one  of  the 
Merdle  family  and  one  of  the  Dorrit  family, 
namely,  Edward  Dorrit,  Esquire,  are,  to  say 
the  least,  border-line  cases.  Perhaps,  however, 
any  deficiencies  on  their  part  are  made  up  by 
the  penetration  of  Miss  Fanny  which  some- 
times approaches  the  uncanny.  As  everybody 
knows  she  amply  revenged  herself  upon  the 


BARNABY  RUDGE 


41 


Bosom  by  presenting  to  that  estimable  lady's- 
maid  before  her  face  "appreciations  from  her 
dressmaker"  and  a  bracelet,  of  at  least  ten 
times  the  value  of  those  presented  to  Fanny 
herself  in  the  days  of  their  poverty. 

Mr.  Sparkler  makes  his  last  appearance  in 
a  conversation  with  his  wife,  when,  though  he 
does  his  best,  he  does  not  succeed  as  well  as 
one  would  like  in  pleasing  that  lady,  partly 
because  his  parrot  phrase  about  "A  remarkably 
fine  woman  with  no  nonsense  about  her"  is 
repeated  so  often  that  the  fair  Fanny  can  bear 
it  no  -lore. 


Babnabt  Rudob 
The  most  famous  of  all  Dickens's  feeble- 
minded people  is  Bamaby  Rudge.  Bamaby, 
around  whom  the  story  may  be  said  in  a  sense 
to  center,  was,  as  every  reader  of  Dickens 
knows,  the  idiot  son  of  a  poor  widow  whose 
husband  was  supposed  to  have  been  murdered, 
along  with  his  master,  under  peculiarly  dis- 
tressing and  brutal  circumstances.  It  was 
RuJge  himself  who  was  the  murderer,  and  who 
had  escaped  by  dressing  himself  in  the  clothes 
of  the  servant  who  had  been  the  other  victim. 


42 


THE  ALMOSTS 


n 


It  was,  of  course,  the  reappearance  of  this  ter- 
rible man  and  of  Dickens's  worst  villain,  Stagg, 
that  drove  the  poor  widow  distracted  from 
time  to  time  and  was  the  reason  of  her  many 
and  painful  wanderings. 

The  description  of  the  poor  idiot  boy  is  true 
to  life,  but  the  impression  left  upon  the  mind 
of  the  reader  that  the  boy's  mental  defect  was 
caused  by  the  terrible  circumstances  already 
alluded  to,  which  occurred  immediately  before 
his  birth,  is  not  at  all  likely  to  be  correct,  as 
we  now  know. 

When  the  honest  locksmith,  Gabriel  Varden, 
finds  the  unconscious  body  of  Edward  Chester, 
Bamaby  is  represented  as  waving  a  torch  and 
dancing  around  the  apparently  lifeless  body. 

"As  he  stood  at  that  moment,  half  shrinking 
back  and  half  bending  f  ..  ird,  both  his  face 
and  figure  were  full  in  the  strong  glare  of  the 
link,  and  as  distinctly  revealed  as  though  it 
had  been  broad  day.  He  was  about  three  and 
twenty  years  old,  and,  though  rather  spare,  of 
a  fair  height  and  strong  make.  His  hair,  of 
which  he  had  a  great  profusion,  was  red,  and, 
hanging  in  disorder  about  his  face  and  shoul- 
ders, gave  to  his  restless  looks  an  expression 


BARNABY  BUDGE 


43 


quite  unearthly  — enhanced  by  the  paleness 
of  his  complexion,  and  the  glassy  lustre  of  his 
large,  protruding  eyes.  Startling  as  his  aspect 
was,  the  features  were  good,  and  there  was 
something  even  plaintive  in  his  wan  and  hag- 
gard aspect.  But  the  absence  of  the  soul  is  far 
more  terrible  in  a  living  man  than  in  a  dead  one, 
and  in  this  unfortunate  being  its  noblest 
powers  were  wanting. 

"His  dress  was  of  green  clumsily  trimmed 
here    and    there  —  apparently    by    his    own 
hands  —  with  gaudy  lace;  brightest  where  the 
cloth  was  most  worn  and  soiled,  and  poorest 
where  it  was  at  the  best.  A  pair  of  tawdry 
ruffles  dangled  at  his  wrists,  while  his  throat 
was  nearly  bare.  He  had  ornamented  his  hat 
with  a  cluster  of  peacock's  feathers,  but  they 
were  limp,  and  broken,  and  now  trailed  negli- 
gently down  his  back.  Girt  to  his  side  was  the 
steel  hilt  of  an  old  sword  without  blade  or 
scabbard;  and  some  parti-coloured  ends  of  rib- 
ands and  poor  glass  toys  completed  the  orna- 
mental portion  of  his  attire.  The  fluttered  and 
confused  disposition  of  all  the  motley  scraps 
that  formed  his  dress  bespoke,  in  a  scarcely  less 
degree  than  his  eager  and  unsettled  manner. 


if 


IE 

J  I 


*4  THE  ALMOSTS 

the  disorder  o!  his  mind,  and  by  a  grotesque 
contrast  set  off  and  heightened  the  more  im- 
pressive wildness  of  his  face." 

Those  who  are  familiar  with  the  appearance 
of  mental  defectives  and  their  fondness  for 
bright  colors  will  recognize  this  description. 

The  restlessness  of  Bamaby,  so  character- 
istic of  mental  defect,  is  referred  to  by  his 
mother,  and  the  remarks  that  kind  people  will 
often  make  about  fancied  improvement  are 
well  illustrated  in  the  locksmith's  words,  "In 
good  time,'*  said  he  in  answer  to  the  widow's 

wish    for   improvement,   "In  good    time 

don't  be  downhearted.  He  grows  wiser  every 
day."  It  is  no  kindness  to  tell  the  poor  parents 
that  their  child  will  "grow  out  of"  mental 
defect.  Never.  Never.  Never. 

Bamaby  and  his  raven  dominate  the  story. 
The  raven  is  his  great  companion,  and  Bar- 
naby's  description  of  him  and  his  own  shadow 
shows  that  he  apparently  has  some  concep- 
tion of  his  own  mental  condition.  This  some- 
times, but  not  often,  occurs  in  the  feeble- 
minded. 

"He 's  a'merry  fellow,  that  shadow,  and  keeps 
close  to  me,  though  I  am  silly.  We  have  such 


ri  i 


BARNABY  BUDGE 


45 


pra.'rks,  such  walks,  such  runs,  such  gambols 
on  the  grass  I  Sometimes  he'll  be  half  as  tall  as 
a  church  steeple,  and  sometimes  no  bigger  than 
a  dwarf.  Now,  he  goes  on  before,  and  now  be- 
hind, and  anon  he'll  be  stealing  slyly  on,  on 
this  side  or  on  that,  stopping  whenever  I  stop, 
and  thinking  I  can't  see  him,  though  I  have  my 
eye  on  him  sharp  enough.  Oh!  he's  a  merry 
fellow.  Tell  me  —  is  he  silly  tool  I  think  he  is." 

Bamaby  and  his  skein  of  string  illustrate 
the  occupations  habitual  to  some  feeble-minded 
persons. 

Bamaby's  journeys  are  also  typical  of  the 
uncared-for  and  untrained  feeble-minded  who 
often  have  a  great  instinct  for  wandering  ard 
cause  no  little  trouble  by  their  doings  at  such 
times. 

It  is  evident  that  Bamaby  was  at  least  not 
idiotic,  but  of  a  higher  grade,  probably  an  im- 
becile, when  we  consider  his  doings  in  the 
political  troubles  which  form  the  center  of  inter- 
est in  the  latter  part  of  this  book. 

The  widow's  prayer  for  her  poor  son  is  very 
touching:  "O  Thou,"  she  cried,  "who  hast 
taught  me  such  deep  love  for  this  one  remnant 
of  the  promise  of  a  happy  life,  out  of  whose 


f 


46 


THE  ALMOSTS 


!! 


affliction,  even,  perhaps  the  comfort  springs 
that  he  is  ever  a  relying,  loving  child  to  me  — 
never  growing  old  or  cold  at  heart  but  needing 
my  care  and  duty  in  his  manly  strength  as  in 
his  cradle-time  —  help  him  in  his  darkened 
walk  through  this  sad  world,  or  he  is  doomed 
and  my  poor  heart  is  broken.'* 

Nor  was  Bamaby  without  joy  and  happiness 
along  his  darkened  path.  For  example,  when 
his  poor  mother  was  driven  out  of  the  humble 
cottage  that  had  been  their  refuge  — 

'*The  widow,  to  whom  each  painful  mile 
seemed  longer  than  the  last,  toiled  wearily 
along;  while  Bamaby,  yielding  to  every  incon- 
stant impulse,  fluttered  here  and  there,  now 
leaving  her  far  behind,  now  lingering  far  behind 
himself,  now  darting  into  some  by-lane  or  path 
and  leaving  her  to  pursue  her  way  alone,  until 
he  stealthily  emerged  again  and  came  upon  her 
with  a  wild  shout  of  merriment,  as  his  way- 
ward and  capricious  nature  prompted.  Now 
he  would  call  to  her  from  the  topmost  branch 
of  some  high  tree  by  the  roadside;  now,  using 
his  tall  staff  as  a  leaping-pole,  come  flying  over 
ditch  or  hedge  or  five-barred  gate;  now  run 
with  surprising  swiftness  for  a  mile  or  more  on 


BARNABY  RUDGE 


47 


the 'straight  road,  and  halting,  sport  upon  a 
patch  of  grass  with  Grip  till  she  came  up. 
These  were  his  delights;  and  when  his  patient 
mother  heard  his  merry  voice,  or  looked  into 
his  flushed  and  healthy  face,  she  would  not 
have  abated  them  by  one  sad  word  or  murmur, 
though  each  had  been  to  her  a  source  of  suffer- 
ing in  the  same  degree  that  it  was  to  him  a 
pleasure. 

"It  is  something  to  look  upon  enjoyment,  so 
that  it  be  free  and  wild  and  in  the  face  of  na- 
ture, though  it  b  but  the  enjoyment  of  an 
idiot.  It  is  something  to  know  that  Heaven  has 
left  the  capacity  of  gladness  in  such  a  crea- 
ture's breast;  it  is  something  to  be  assured  that, 
however  lightly  men  may  crush  that  faculty 
in  their  fellows,  the  Great  Creator  of  mankind 
imparts  it  even  to  his  despised  and  slighted 
work.  Who  would  not  rather  see  a  poor  idiot 
happy  in  the  sunlight,  than  a  wise  man  pining 
in  a  darkened  jaill" 

Charles  Dickens  touches  here  upon  one  of 
the  most  important  principles  in  guiding  the 
feeble-minded,  and  in  advising  their  relatives. 
Do  we  remember  how  happy  we  were  in  child- 
hood? We  could  not  be  made  unhappy,  largely 


i 


I  , 


i 


n 


48 


THE  ALMOSTS 


because  we  could  not  understand  the  griefs 
and  burdens  of  our  elders.  And  the  feeble- 
minded have  been  well  called  "permanent 
children."  We  can  always  make  them  happy. 
They  never  grow  too  old  for  simple  childish 
enjoyments.  They  cannot  be  acquainted  with 
grief  except  in  a  childish  way.  They  can  always 
make  themselves  happy  if  we  let  them. 

Bamaby's  occupations  and  the  fact  that  he 
could  help  to  earn  his  living  are  well  told  in  the 
following: 

"For  Bamaby  himself,  the  time  which  had 
flown  by  had  passed  him  like  the  wind.  The 
daily  suns  of  years  had  shed  no  brighter  gleam 
of  reason  on  his  mind;  no  dawn  had  broken  on 
his  long,  dark  night.  He  would  sit  sometimes 
—  often  for  days  together  —  on  a  low  seat  by 
the  fire  or  by  the  cottage  door,  busy  at  work 
(for  he  had  learned  the  art  his  mother  plied,) 
and  hstening,  God  help  him,  to  the  tales  she 
would  repeat  as  a  lure  to  keep  him  in  her  sight. 
He  had  no  recollection  of  these  Uttle  narra- 
tives; the  tale  of  yesterday  was  new  upon  the 
morrow;  but  he  liked  them  at  the  moment; 
and,  when  the  humour  held  him,  would  remain 
patiently  within  doors*  hearing  her  stories  like 


■  i 


BABNABY  BUDGE 


49 


3 

; 


a  little  cfafld,  and  worldng  cheerfully  from  sun- 
rise until  it  was  too  dark  to  see. 

"At  other  times  —  and  then  their  scanty 
earnings  were  barely  sufficient  to  furnish  them 
with  food,  though  of  the  coarsest  sort  —  he 
would  wander  abroad  from  dawn  of  day  until 
the  twilight  deepened  into  night." 

To  this  humble  home  that  the  poor  widow 
made,  the  blind  man  by  some  unhappy  chance 
makes  his  way  and  states  that  his  name  is 
Stagg  and  demands  that  the  poor  woman  shall 
pay  the  relatively  enormous  sum  of  twenty 
pounds  to  him  for  the  benefit  of  her  wretched 
husband,  expecting  that  she  will  apply  for  the 
sum  to  Mr.  Haredale,  who  always  paid  ner  an 
annuity  while  she  lived  at  her  old  home.  The 
widow  gives  this  blind  wretch  six  guineas, 
saying,  "These  have  been  scraped  together  and 
laid  by,  lest  sickness  or  death  should  separate 
my  son  and  me.  They  have  been  purchased  at 
the  price  of  much  hunger,  hard  labor,  and  want 
of  rest.  If  you  can  take  them  —  do  —  on  condi- 
tion that  you  leave  this  place  upon  the  instant, 
and  enter  no  more  into  that  room,  where  he  sits 
now,  expecting  your  return."  She  arranges  with 
Stagg  to  come  back  that  day  week  at  sunset  for 


00 


THE  ALMOSTS 


the  remainder  of  the  sum,  and  in  the  meantime 
makes  her  way  to  London,  frightened  most  of 
all  by  the  efforts  of  the  blind  man  to  induce  her 
son  to  leave  her  and  to  awaken  in  his  poor  mind 
the  lust  for  gold. 

"  How  often  on  their  journey  did  the  widow 
remember  with  a  grateful  heart  that  out  of  his 
deprivation  Bamaby's  cheerfulness  and  affec- 
tion sprung  I  How  often  did  she  call  to  mind 
that  but  for  that  he  might  have  been  sullen, 
morose,  unkind,  far  removed  from  her  — 
vicious,  perhaps,  and  cruel  I  How  often  had  she 
cause  for  comfort,  in  his  strength,  and  hope, 
and  in  his  simple  nature!  Those  feeble  powers 
of  mind  which  rendered  him  so  soon  forgetful 
of  the  past,  save  in  brief  gleams  and  flashes  — 
even  they  were  a  comfort  now.  The  world  to 
him  was  full  of  happiness;  in  every  tree,  and 
plant,  and  flower,  in  every  bird,  and  beast, 
and  tiny  insect  whom  a  breath  of  summer  wind 
laid  low  upon  the  ground,  he  had  delight.  His 
delight  was  hers;  and  where  many  a  wise  son 
would  have  made  her  sorrowful,  this  poor  light- 
hearted  idiot  filled  her  breast  with  thankful- 
ness and  love." 
,    The  impression  made  by  the  blind  man  on 


BARNABY  RUDGE 


51 


I 


Bmmaby  was  not  so  evanescent  and  apparently 
not  unfavorable.  He  remembered  about  the 
gold  whidi  was  to  be  found  where  people 
crowded  and  not  among  trees  and  quiet  places. 
"He  is  a  wise  man,"  said  Bamaby,  and  spoke 
about  the  matter  more  than  once  with  a  cer- 
tain approval.  In  this  the  opinion  of  Dickens 
hardly  agrees  with  that  of  many  other  observers 
who  are  wont  to  notice  that  mental  defectives, 
like  many  little  children,  have  an  instinctive 
knowledge  of  character. 

Another  instance  of  the  same  thing  is  the 
story  of  Bamaby  following  Gashford  and  Lord 
George  Gordon,  in  spite  of  the  remonstrances 
of  his  mother  — 

"No,  no,  my  lord,  forgive  me,"  implored  the 
widow,  laying  both  her  hands  upon  his  breast, 
and  scarcely  knowing  what  she  did  or  said  in 
the  earnestness  of  her  supplication;  "but  there 
are  reasons  why  you  should  hear  my  earnest 
mother's  prayer,  and  leave  my  son  to  me.  Oh, 
do.  He  is  not  in  his  right  senses,  he  is  not, 
indeed  I" 

"It  is  a  bad  sign  of  the  wickedness  of  these 
times,"  said  Lord  George,  evading  her  touch, 
and  colouring  deeply,  "that  those  who  cling  to 


69 


THE  ALMOSTS 


ri 


the  truth  and  support  the  right  cause  are  set 
down  as  mad.  Have  you  the  heart  to  say  this 
of  your  own  son,  unnatural  mother!" 

"I  am  astonished  at  you!"  said  Gashford, 
with  a  kind  of  meek  severity.  "This  is  a  very 
sad  picture  of  female  depravity." 

"He  has  surely  no  appearance,"  said  Lord 
George,  glancing  at  Bamaby,  and  whispering 
in  his  secretary's  ear,  "of  being  deranged?  And 
even  if  he  had  we  must  not  construe  any  trifling 
peculiarity  into  madness." 

Lord  George  is  by  no  means  the  only  one 
who  has  failed  to  recognize  the  feeble-minded, 
and  even  magistrates  have  been  heai  .  to  use 
the  same  words  as  the  miserable  Gashford, 
*' He  is  as  sensible  and  self-possessed  as  any  one 
I  ever  saw." 

So  Bamaby  goes  to  destruction  —  "She  was 
thrown  to  the  ground;  the  whole  field  was  in 
motion;  Bamaby  was  whirled  away  into  the 
heart  of  a  dense  mass  of  men  and  she  saw  him 
no  more." 

Hugh  knows  only  too  well  what  use  can  be 
made  of  Bamaby  — 

"I  knew  I  was  not  mistaken  in  Bamaby. 
Don't  you  see,  man,"  he  added  in  a  whisper. 


BARNABY  RUDGE 


58 


as  he  slipped  to  the  other  side  of  Dennis,  "that 
the  lad*s  a  natural,  and  can  be  got  to  do  any- 
thing, if  you  take  him  the  right  way.  Letting 
alone  the  fun  he  is,  he's  worth  a  dozen  men,  in 


earnest,  as  you'd  find  if  you  tried  a  fall  with 
hun.  Leave  him  to  me.  You  shall  soon  see 
whether  he 's  of  use  or  not." 

Hugh  is  not  the  only  person,  who,  with  crim- 
inal intent,  has  tried  to  make  a  mental  defec- 
tive party  to  a  crime.  Bamaby  did  not  even 
know  enough  to  flee  with  the  rest,  and  placed 
himself  in  the  most  unhappy  position  of  all  the 
rioters. 

As  to  the  amount  of  hann  that  a  poor  imbe- 
cile like  Bamaby  can  do  — 

"The  proclamation  having  been  produced 
and  read  by  one  of  them,  the  officer  called  on 

Bamaby  to  surrender Still  he  offered  no 

reply.  Indeed,  he  had  enough  to  do  to  ran  his 
eye  backward  and  forward  along  the  half- 
dozen  men  who  immediately  fronted  him,  and 
settle  hurriedly  within  himself  which  of  them 
he  would  strike  first,  when  they  pressed  on 
him.  He  caught  the  eye  of  one  in  the  centre, 
and  resolved  to  hew  that  fellow  down,  though 
he  died  for  it. 


|i)'! 


54 


THE  ALMOSTS 


*( , 


'Again  there  was  a  dead  silence,  and  again 
the  same  voice  called  upon  him  to  deliver  him- 
self up. 

'*Next  moment  he  was  back  in  the  stable, 
dealing  blows  about  him  like  a  madman.  Two 
of  the  men  lay  stretched  at  his  feet;  the  one  he 
had  marked  dropped  first  —  he  had  a  thought 
for  that,  even  in  the  hot  blood  and  hurry  of  the 
struggle.  Another  blow  —  another  I  Down, 
mastered,  wounded  in  the  breast  by  a  heavy 
blow  from  the  butt  end  of  a  gun  (he  saw  the 
weapon  in  the  act  of  falling)  —  breathless  — 
and  a  prisoner." 

Meeting  his  father  in  Newgate  Prison,  and 
escaping  with  him  to  take  refuge  "in  a  comer  of 
the  market  among  the  pens  for  cattle,  Bamaby 
knelt  down,  and  pausing  eveiy  now  and  then  to 
pass  his  hand  over  his  father's  face,  or  look  up 
to  him  with  a  smile,  knocked  off  his  irons. 
When  he  had  seen  him  spring,  a  free  man,  to  his 
feet  and  had  given  vent  to  the  transport  of 
delight  which  the  sight  awakened,  he  went  to 
work  upon  his  own  which  soon  went  rattling 
to  the  ground,  and  left  his  limbs  unfettered." 

He  then  made  for  the  fields  and  "found  in  a 
pasture  near  Finchley  a  poor  shed,  with  walls 


BARNABY  RUDGE 


05 


of  mud,  and  roof  of  grass  and  brambles,  built 
for  some  cow-herd  but  now  deserted.  Here  they 
lay  down  for  the  rest  of  the  night. 

"They  wandered  to  and  fro  when  it  was  day, 
and  once  Bamaby  went  off  alone  to  a  cluster 
of  little  cottages  two  or  three  miles  away,  to 
purchase  some  bread  and  milk.  But  finding  no 
better  shelter,  they  returned  to  the  same  place, 
and  lay  down  again  to  wait  for  night.'* 

Bamaby  then  goes  off  with  great  delight  to 
find  the  blind  man  and  encounters  Hugh. 
Angry  and  afraid  of  Hugh,  his  father  is  dis- 
pleased with  Bamaby  for  having  brought  him 
to  their  poor  refuge. 

"I  recollect  the  man,"  his  father  murmured. 
"Why  did  you  bring  him  here?** 

"Because  he  would  have  been  killed  if  I 
had  left  him  over  yonder.  They  were  firing  guna 
and  shedding  blood.  Does  the  sight  of  blood 
turn  you  sick,  father?  I  see  it  does  by  your 
face.  That's  like  me  —  what  are  you  looking 
at?'* 

"At  nothingl"  said  the  murderer  softly,  as 
he  started  back  a  pace  or  two,  and  gazed  with 
sunken  jaw  and  staring  eyes  above  his  son's 
head.  "At  nothing!" 


56 


THE  ALMOSTS 


\i:' 


'*He  remained  in  the  same  attitude  and  with 
the  same  expression  on  his  face  for  a  minute 
or  more;  then  glanced  slowly  around  as  if  he 
had  lost  something;  and  went  shivering  back 
towards  the  shed  — 

*' Shall  I  bring  him  in,  father?"  said  Bar- 
naby,  who  had  looked  on,  wondering. 

"He  only  answered  with  a  suppressed  groan, 
and,  lying  down  upon  the  ground,  wrapped  his 
cioak  about  his  head,  and  shrunk  into  the  dark- 
est comer. 

"Finding  that  nothing  would  rouse  Hugh 
now,  or  make  him  sensible  for  a  moment,  Bar- 
naby  dragged  him  along  the  grass,  and  laid 
him  upon  a  little  heap  of  refuse  hay  and  straw, 
which  had  been  his  own  bed;  first  having 
brought  some  water  from  a  running  stream 
hard  by,  and  washed  his  wound,  and  laved  his 
hands  and  face.  Then  he  lay  down  himself, 
between  the  two,  to  pass  the  night,  and,  look- 
ing at  the  stars  fell  fast  asleep." 

At  last  Bamaby  is  found  by  his  mother  in 
prison,  the  place  where  so  many  mental  defec- 
tives are  thrown,  and  she  has  to  tell  him  about 
his  father. 

In  the  time  of  great  need  the  kind  locksmith, 


BARNABY  RUDGE 


57 


i 


Gabriel  Varden,  comes  to  the  rescue  of  Bar- 
naby  and  his  mother. 

"Mary  Rudge  wUl  have  a  home  and  a  firm 
friend  when  she  most  wants  one;  but  Bar- 
naby  —  poor  Bamaby  —  willing  Bamaby  — 
what  aid  can  I  render  him?  There  are  many, 
many  men  of  sense,  God  forgive  me,"  cried  the 
honest  locksmith,  stopping  in  a  narrow  coiurt  to 
pass  his  hand  across  his  eyes,  "I  could  better 
afford  to  lose  than  Bamaby.  We  have  always 
been  good  friends,  but  I  never  knew  till  now 
how  much  I  loved  the  lad." 

"There  were  not  many  in  the  great  city  who 
thought  of  Bamaby  that  day,  otherwise  than 
as  an  actor  in  a  show  which  was  to  take 
place  to-morrow.  But,  if  the  whole  population 
bad  had  him  in  their  minds,  and  had  wished  his 
life  to  be  spared,  not  one  among  them  could 
have  done  so  with  a  purer  zeal  or  a  greater 
singleness  of  heart  than  the  good  locksmith. 

"They  walked  out  into  the  courtyard,  cling- 
ing to  each  other,  but  not  speaking.  Bamaby 
knew  that  the  jail  was  a  dull,  miserable,  sad 
place,  and  looked  forward  to  to-morrow  as  to 
a  passage  from  it  to  something  bright  and 
beautiful.  He  had  a  vague  impression  too  that 


S8 


THE  ALMOSTS 


i<  i 


he  was  expected  to  be  brave,  that  he  was  a  man 
-of  great  consequence,  and  that  the  prison  peo- 
ple would  be  glad  to  make  him  weep.  He  trod 
the  ground  more  firmly  as  he  thought  of  this, 
and  bade  her  take  heart  and  cry  no  more,  and 
feel  how  steady  his  hand  was.  *They  call  me 
silly,  mother.  They  shall  see—  to-morrowl* 

"He  was  the  oidy  one  of  the  three  who  had 
washed  or  trimmed  himself  that  morning. 
Neither  of  the  others  had  done  so  since  their 
doom  was  pronounced.  He  still  wore  the  broken 
peacock's  feathers  in  his  hat;  and  all  his  usual 
scraps  of  finery  were  carefully  disposed  about 
his  person.  His  kindling  eye,  his  firm  step,  his 
proud  and  resolute  bearing,  might  have  graced 
some  lofty  act  of  heroism;  some  voluntary  sac- 
rifice, bom  of  a  noble  cause  and  pure  enthusi- 
asm, rather  than  that  felon's  death." 

Bamaby  is  rescued  just  in  time  by  the  efforts 
of  Mr.  Haredale  and  Edward  Chester. 

"Some  time  elapsed  before  Bamaby  got  the 
better  of  the  shock  he  had  sustained,  or  re- 
gained his  old  health  and  gayety.  But  he 
recovered  by  degrees;  and  although  he  could 
never  separate  his  condemnation  and  escape 
from  the  idea  of  a  terrific  dream,  he  became. 


m 


BARNABY  BUDGE 


ffO 


■» 


in  other  respects,  more  rational.  Dating  from 
the  time  of  his  recovery,  he  had  better  memory 
and  greater  steadiness  of  purpose;  but  a  dark 
cloud  overhung  his  whole  previous  existence, 
and  never  cleared  away. 

"He  was  not  the  less  happy  for  this;  for  his 
love  of  freedom  and  int  est  in  all  that  moved 
or  grew,  or  had  its  being  in  the  elements,  re- 
mained to  him  unimpaired.  He  lived  with  his 
mother  on  the  Maypole  farm,  tending  the  poul- 
try and  the  cattle,  working  in  a  garden  of  his 
own,  and  helping  everywhere.  He  was  known 
to  every  bird  and  beast  about  the  place,  and 
had  a  name  for  every  one.  Never  was  there  a 
lighter-hearted  husbandman,  a  creature  more 
popular  with  young  and  old,  a  blither  or  more 
happy  soul  than  Bamaby;  and  though  he  was 
free  to  ramble  where  he  would,  he  never  quitted 
Her,  but  was  forever  more  her  stay  and  com- 
fort. 

"It  was  remarkable  that  although  he  had 
that  dim  sense  of  the  past,  he  sought  out 
Hugh's  dog,  and  took  him  under  his  care;  and 
that  he  never  could  be  tempted  into  London. 
When  the  riots  were  many  years  old,  and 
Edward  and  his  wife  came  back  to  England 


80  THE  ALMOSTS 

with  a  family  almost  as  nimierous  as  Dolly's 
and  one  day  appeared  at  the  Maypole  porch, 
he  knew  them  instantly,  and  wept  and  leaped 
for  joy.  But  neither  to  visit  them,  nor  on  any 
other  pretence,  no  matter  how  full  of  promise 
and  enjoyment,  could  he  be  persuaded  to  set 
foot  in  the  streets;  nor  did  he  ever  conquer  his 
repugnance  or  look  upon  the  to^vn  again. 


>» 


IM 


'  On  the  whole,  the  character  of  Bamaby 
Rudge,  though  presenting  many  interesting 
features,  can  hardly  be  said  to  be  Dickens's 
greatest  success  in  the  portrayal  of  feeble- 
minded persons.  It  is  too  much  influenced  by 
the  thought  of  the  time.  The  author  shows  him- 
self here  rather  abreast  of  the  current  opinion 
in  his  time  about  mental  defectives.  But  in 
many  of  his  other  feeble-minded  characters  he 
shows  himself  far  ahead  of  such  opinion. 


Nicholas  Nicklebt 

La  none  of  Dickens's  works  is  there  a  more 
instructive  picture  of  a  mentally  defective  boy 
than  in  Nicholas  Nickleby. 

When  Nicholas  reaches  Dotheboys  Hall  he 
observed  "  that  the  school  was  a  long,  cold-look- 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY 


61 


i  ^ 


ing  house,  one  story  high,  with  a  few  straggling 
out-buildings  behind,  and  a  bam  and  stable 
adjoining.  After  the  lapse  of  a  minute  or  two, 
the  noise  of  somebody  unlocking  the  yard  gate 
was  heard,  and  presently  a  tall,  lean  boy,  with 
a  lantern  in  his  hand,  issued  forth. 

"Is  that  you,  Smike?"  cried  Squeers. 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  boy. 

"Then  why  the  devil  did  n't  you  come  be- 
fore?" 

"Please,  sir,  I  fell  asleep  over  the  fire," 
answered  Smike,  with  humility. 

"Fire!  what  fire?  Where's  there  a  fire?"  de- 
manded the  schoolmaster  sharply. 

"Only  in  the  kitchen,  sir,"  replied  the  boy. 
"Missus  said  as  I  was  sitting  up  I  might  go  in 
there  for  a  warm." 

"Your  Missus  is  a  fool,"  retorted  Squeers. 
"You'd  have  been  a  deuced  deal  more  wakeful 
in  the  cold,  I'll  engage." 

When  Squeers  sorted  the  mail  poor  Smike 
"glanced  with  an  anxious  and  timid  expression 
at  the  papers,  as  if  with  a  sickly  hope  that  one 
among  them  might  relate  to  him." 

In  answer  to  the  poor  boy's  inquiry,  "Have 
you  —  did     anybody  —  has     nothing     been 


l\   - 


\ : 


I 


6i  THE  ALMOSTS 

heard  —  about  mc?"  Squeera  replies,  "Devil 

a  bit." 

"The  boy  put  his  hand  to  his  head  as  if  he 
were  making  an  effort  to  recollect  something, 
and  then,  looking  vacantly  at  his  questioner, 
gradually  broke  into  a  smile,  and  limped 
away. 

"I'll  tell  you  what,  Squeers,"  remarked  his 
wife,  as  the  door  closed,  "I  think  that  young 
chap's  turning  silly." 

"I  hope  not,"  said  the  schoohnaster,  "for 
he's  a  handy  fellow  out  of  doors,  and  worth 
his  meat  and  drink,  anyway.  I  should  think 
he'd  have  wit  enough  for  us  though,  if  he 

was." 

We  are  again  reminded  of  the  fact  so  well 
known  to  those  who  have  the  care  of  the 
feeble-minded  —  they  can  earn  their  living  in 
an  institution.  Even  Squeers  knew  this.  The 
name  of  the  institution  in  this  case  was  Dothe- 
boys  Hall. 

The  description  of  the  boys  of  Dotheboys 
Hall  is  ahnost  too  heartrending  to  quote,  ex- 
cept that  it  reminds  us  that  we  have  made  some 
progress.  Whether  there  ever  was  such  a  school 
as  Dotheboys  Hall  or  not,  probably  there  were 


i' 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY  eS 

places  alm(Mt  as  bad,  and  one  can  feel  that 
such  a  place  is  not  possible  now. 

'Tale  and  haggard  faces,  lank  and  bony 
figures,  children  with  the  countenances  of  old 
men,  deformities  with  irons  upon  their  limbs, 
boys  of  stunted  growth,  and  others  whose  long 
meagre  legs  would  hardly  bear  their  stooping 
bodies,  all  crowded  on  the  view  together;  there 
were  the  bleared  eye,  the  hare-lip,  the  crooked 
foot,  and  every  ugliness  or  distortion  that  told 
of  unnatural  aversion  conceived  by  parents 
for  their  offspring,  or  of  young  lives  which, 
from  the  earUest  dawn  of  infancy,  had  been 
one  horrible  endurance  of   cruelty  and  ne- 
glect. There  were  little  faces  which  should  have 
been  Handsome,  darkened  with  the  scowl  of 
sullen,  dogged  suffering;  there  was  childhood 
with  the  light  of  its  eye  quenched,  its  beauty 
gone,  and  its  helplessness  alone  remaining; 
there  were  vicious-faced  boys,  brooding,  with 
leaden  eyes,  like  malefactors  in  a  jail;  and  there 
were  young  creatures  on  whom  the  sins  of  their 
frail  parents  had  descei  Jed,  weeping  even  for 
the  mercenary  nurses  they  had  known,  and 
lonesome  even  in  their  loneliness.  With  every 
kmdly  sympathy  and  affection  blasted  in  its 


1 


64 


THE  ALM08TS 


birth,  with  every  young  and  healthy  feeling 
flogged  and  starved  down,  with  every  revenge- 
ful passion  that  can  fester  in  swollen  hearts  eat- 
ing its  evil  way  to  their  core  in  silence,  what  an 
incipient  Hell  was  breeding  here!" 

Have  we  abolished  all  our  "unnecessary 
Hells?*'  Let  us  make  a  clean  job  of  it! 

The  coming  of  Nicholas  Niddeby  was  a 
blessing  to  poor  Smike. 

"Smike,  since  the  night  Nicholas  had  spoken 
kindly  to  him  in  the  school-room,  had  followed 
him  to  and  fro,  with  an  ever  restless  desire  to 
serve  or  help  him ;  anticipating  such  little  wants 
as  his  humble  ability  could  supply,  and  content 
only  to  be  near  him.  He  would  sit  beside  him 
for  hours,  looking  patiently  into  his  face;  and 
a  word  would  brighten  up  his  careworn  visage, 
and  call  into  it  a  passing  gleam,  even  of  happi- 
ness. He  was  an  altered  being;  he  had  an  object 
now;  and  that  object  was  to  show  his  attach- 
ment to  the  only  person  —  that  person  a 
stranger  —  who  had  treated  him,  not  to  say 
with  kindness,  but  like  a  human  creature. 

'*Upon  this  poor  being,  all  the  spleen  and  ill- 
humour  that  could  not  be  vented  on  Nicholas 
were  unceasingly  bestowed.  Drudgery  would 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY  « 

have  been  nothing— Smikc  waa  well  used  to 
that.  Buffetings  inflicted  without  cause,  would 
have  been  equally  a  matter  of  course;  for  to 
them,  also,  he  had  served  a  long  and  weary 
apprenticeship;  but  it  was  no  sooner  observed 
that  he  had  become  attached  to  Nicholas,  than 
.st  Ipes  and  blows,  stripes  and  blows,  morning, 
n  jTi.  inu  .'igLt,  were  his  only  portion.  Squeers 
vcb.  jculou  of  the  influence  which  his  man 
luC  -i »  M-'  acquired,  and  his  family  hated 
l-ra,  ^nd  ^  aike  paid  for  both.  Nicholas  saw  it 
...id  grountl  his  teeth  at  every  repetition  of  the 
.•  .1  •  -i^e  ana  cowardly  attack." 

1  Lc  g.  ave  mental  defect  of  the  poor  boy  is 
diiis  cicurly  described: 

*•  Vamly  endeavouring  to  master  some  task 
which  a  child  of  nine  years  old,  possessed  of 
ordinary  powers,  could  have  conquered  with 
ease,  but  which,  to  the  addled  brain  of  the 
crushed  boy  of  nineteen,  was  a  sealed  and  hope- 
less mystery.  Yet  there  he  sat,  patiently  conning 
the  page  again  and  again,  stimulated  by  no 
boyish  ambition,  for  he  was  the  common  jest 
and  scoff  even  of  the  uncouth  objects  that  con- 
gregated aboui  lim,  but  inspired  by  the  one 
eager  desire  to  i>iease  his  solitary  friend."  . 


66 


THE  ALMOSTS 


fc  < 


We  should  not  ask  mental  defectives  to  do 
the  impossible.  It  is  cruel. 

Nicholas  begins  to  think  of  leaving  the  Hall, 
and  says  SmUce  will  be  better  off  when  he 
(Nicholas)  goes.  Tlie  scene  in  which  the  young 
master  settles  accounts  once  for  all  with  Squeers 
and  his  family,  and,  taking  Smike  with  him, 
leaves  the  place  forever,  has  perhaps  no  rival 
in  Dickens's  works,  unless  it  be  that  scene  in 
which  Micawber  settles  his  accounts  with 
Uriah  Heep  or  that  in  which  Miss  Betsey  Trot- 
wood  avenges  us  all  upon  Miss  Murdstone. 

Smike  soon  begins  to  feel  that  he  is  a  burden 
to  his  benefactor:  "I  know  you  are  unhappy, 
and  have  got  into  great  trouble  by  bringing  me 
away.  I  ought  to  have  known  that,  and  stopped 
behind  —  I  would,  indeed,  if  I  had  thought  it 
then.  You  —  you  —  are  not  rich;  you  have 
not  enough  for  yourself  and  I  should  not  be 
here.  You  grow,"  said  the  lad,  laying  his  hand 
timidly  on  that  of  Nicholas,  "you  grow  thinner 
every  day;  your  cheek  is  paler  and  your  eye 
more  sunk.  Indeed  I  cannot  bear  to  see  you  so, 
and  think  how  I  am  burdening  you.  I  tried  to 
go  away  to-day,  but  the  thought  of  your  kind 
face  drew  me  back.  I  could  not  leave  you  with- 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY 


67 


out  a  word."  The  poor  fellow  could  say  no  more, 
for  his  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  his  voice  was 
gone. 

"The  word  which  separates  us,"  said  Nicho- 
las, grasping  him  heartily  by  the  shoulder, 
"shall  never  be  said  by  me,  for  you  are  my  only 
comfort  and  stay.  I  would  not  lose  you  now, 
Smike,  for  all  the  world  could  give.  The  thought 
of  you  has  upheld  me  through  all  I  have 
endured  to-day,  and  shall,  through  fifty  times 
such  trouble.  Give  me  your  hand.  My  heart 
is  linked  to  yours.  We  will  journey  from  this 
place  together  before  the  week  is  out.  What  if 
I  am  steeped  in  poverty?  You  lighten  it,  and 
we  will  be  poor  together." 

They  set  out  for  Portsmouth,  and  no  sooner 
does  Crummies,  the  theatrical  manager,  see 
Smike  than  he  does  what  we  should  all  try  to 
do  in  caring  for  the  mentally  defective.  He  sees 
what  Smike  is  good  for. 

"Excuse  my  saying  so,"  said  the  manager, 
leaning  over  to  Nicholas  and  sinking  his  voice, 
"but  what  a  capital  countenance  your  friend 
has  gotl" 

"Poor  fellow!"  said  Nicholas,  with  a  half 
smile,  "I  wish  it  were  a  little  more  plump  and 
less  haggard." 


68 


THE  ALMOSTS 


"Plump!"  exclaimed  the  manager,  quite 
horrified,  "you'd  spoil  it  forever." 

"Do  you  think  so?" 
'  "Think  so,  sir!  Why,  as  he  is  now,"  said  the 
manager,  striking  his  knee  emphatically; 
"without  a  pad  upon  his  body,  and  hardly  a 
touch  of  paint  upon  his  face,  he'd  make  such 
an  actor  for  the  starved  business  as  was  never 
seen  in  this  country.  Only  let  him  be  tolerably 
well  up  in  the  Apothecary  in  *  Romeo  and 
Juliet,'  with  cbe  slightest  possible  dab  of  red 
on  the  tip  of  his  nose,  and  he'd  be  certain  of 
three  rounds  the  moment  he  put  his  head  out  of 
the  practicable  door  in  the  front  grooves  O.P." 

And  Nicholas,  sheer  destitution  staring  him 
in  the  face,  and  thinking  most  of  all  of  his  help- 
less charge,  forthwith  goes  on  the  stage.  His 
efforts  to  teach  Smike  his  lines  will  appeal  to 
those  who  have  been  in  a  like  position. 

Smike,  who  had  to  sustain  the  character  of 
the  Apothecary,  had  been  as  yet  wholly  un- 
able to  get  any  of  the  part  into  his  head  but 
the  general  idea  that  he  was  very  hungry, 
which  —  perhaps  from  old  recollections — he 
had  acquired  with  great  aptitude. 

**I  don't  know  what's  to  be  done,  Smike," 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY  69 

said  Nicholas,  laying  down  the  book.  "I*m 
afraid  you  can't  learn  it,  my  poor  fellow.'* 

"I  am  afraid  not,"  said  Smike,  shaking  his 
head.  "I  think  if  you  —  but  that  would  give 
you  so  much  trouble." 

"What?"  inquired  Nicholas.  "Never  mind 
me." 

"I  think,"  said  Smike,  "if  you  were  to  keep 
saying  it  to  me  in  little  bits,  over  and  over 
again,  I  should  be  able  to  recollect  it  from 
hearing  you." 

"Do  you  think  so!"  exclaimed  Nicholas. 
"Well  said.  Let  us  see  who  tires  first.  Not  I, 
Snuke,  trust  me.  Now  then.  *Who  calls  so 
loud?"' 

"•Who  calls  so  loud?'"  said  Smike. 

"'Who  calls  so  loud?'"  repeated  Nicholas. 

"*  Who  calls  so  loud?'"  cried  &nike. 

"Thus  they  continued  to  ask  each  other  who 
cidled  so  loud,  over  and  over  again;  and  when 
Smike  had  tluit  by  heart,  Nicholas  went  to 
another  sentence,  and  then  to  two  at  a  time, 
and  then  to  three,  and  so  on,  imtil  at  midnight 
poor  Smike  found  to  his  unspeakable  joy  that 
he  really  began  to  remember  something  about 
the  text. 


70  THE  ALM06TS 

"Early  in  the  monmig  they  went  to  it  again, 
and  Smike,  rendered  more  confident  by  the 
progress  he  had  abeady  made,  got  on  faster 
and  with  better  heart.  As  soon  as  he  began  to 
acquire  the  words  pretty  freely,  Nicholas 
showed  him  how  he  must  come  in  with  both 
hands  spread  out  upon  his  stomach,  and  how 
he  must  occasionally  rub  it,  in  compliance  with 
the  established  form  by  which  people  on  the 
stage  always  denote  that  they  want  something 
to  eat.  After  the  morning's  rehearsal  they  went 
to  woric  again,  nor  did  they  stqp,  except  for  a 
hasty  dinner,  until  it  was  time  to  repair  to 
the  theatre  at  night. 

"Nerer  had  master  a  more  anxious,  humble, 
docile  pupil.  Never  had  pupil  a  more  patient, 
unwearying,  considerate,  kind-hearted  master. 

**  As  soon  as  they  were  dressed,  and  at  every 
interval  when  he  was  not  upon  the  stage, 
Nicholas  renewed  his  instructions.  They  pros- 
pered well.  The  Romeo  was  received  with 
hearty  plaudits  and  unbounded  favour,  and 
Smike  was  pronounced  unanimously,  alike  by 
audience  and  actors,  the  very  prince  and 
prodigy  of  Apothecaries." 

The  license  of  the  story-teller  is  somewhat  in 


NICHOLAS  NICELEBY 


71 


evidence  here.  It  is  not  every  boy  like  poor 
Smike  who  could  recollect  his  part.  But  some 
mental  defectives  could  do  the  part  to  per- 
fection, and  evidently  Smike  was  one. 

We  now  find  a  reference  to  the  most  serious 
problem  in  the  care  of  the  mental  defective  at 
large  in  the  world.  It  is  a  mere  hint. 

*'You  are  out  of  spirits,"  said  Smike,  on  the 
night  after  the  letter  had  been  dispatched. 

**Not  II'*  rejoined  Nicholas,  with  assumed 
gaiety,  for  the  confession  would  have  made  the 
boy  miserable  all  night;  "I  was  thinking  about 
By  sister,  Smike.'* 

"Sisterl" 

"Ay." 

**I8  she  like  you?"  inquired  Smike. 

"Why,  so  they  say,"  replied  Nicholas, 
laughing,  "only  a  great  deal  handsomer." 

"She  must  be  very  beautiful,"  said  Smike, 
after  thinking  a  little  while  with  his  hands 
folded  together,  and  his  eyes  bent  upon  his 
friend. 

"Anybody  who  did  n't  know  you  as  well  as 
I  do,  my  dear  fellow,  would  say  you  were  an 
accomplished  oourtier,"  said  Nicholas. 


n 


79 


THE  ALMOSTS 


Ml 


*I  don't  even  know  what  that  is,"  replied 
Smike,  shaking  his  head.  "Shall  I  ever  see  your 
sister?" 

At  Newman  Noggs's  darkly  worded  sum- 
mons the  pair  now  return  to  London  — 
Nicholas  saying,  "Heaven  knows  I  have  re- 
mained here  for  the  best,  and  sorely  against 
my  own  will;  but  even  now  I  may  have  dallied 
too  long.  What  can  have  happened?  Smike,  my 
good  fellow,  here  —  take  my  purse.  Put  our 
things  together,  and  pay  what  little  debts  we 
owe  —  quick,  and  we  shall  be  in  time  for  the 
morning  coach.  I  will  only  tell  them  that  we  are 
going,  and  will  return  to  you  immediately." 

Not  quite  in  keeping.  Very  few  mental  de- 
fectives can  make  change  and  pay  bills. 

The  unhappy  event  of  Smike's  being  dis- 
covered takes  place  soon  after  this  return  to 
London: 

"He  had  been  gazing  for  a  long  time  through 
a  jeweller's  window,  wishing  he  could  take  some 
of  the  beautiful  trinkets  home  as  a  present,  and 
imagining  what  delight  they  would  afford  if  he 
could,  when  the  clocks  struck  three-quarters 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY 


78 


s 


[ 


past  eight; roused  by  the  sound,  he  hurried  on 
at  a  very  quick  pace,  and  was  crossing  the 
comer  of  a  by-street  when  he  felt  himself  vio- 
lently brought  to,  with  a  jerk  so  sudden  that 
he  was  obliged  to  cling  to  a  lamp-post  to  save 
himself  from  falling.  At  the  same  moment,  a 
small  boy  clung  tight  round  his  leg,  and  a  shrill 
cry  of  *Here  he  is,  father!  Hooray!*  vibrated 
in  his  ears. 

"Smike  knew  that  voice  too  well.  He  cast  his 
despairing  eyes  downward  towards  the  form 
from  which  it  had  proceeded,  and,  shuddering 
from  head  to  foot,  looked  round.  Mr.  Squeers 
had  hooked  him  in  the  coat-collar  with  the 
handle  of  his  umbrella,  and  was  hanging  on  at 
the  other  end  with  all  his  might  and  main. 
The  cry  of  triumph  proceeded  from  Master 
Wackford,  who,  regardless  of  all  his  kicks  and 
struggles,  clung  to  him  with  the  tenadty  of 
a  buU-dog." 

Smike,  however,  escaped  from  his  old  tor- 
mentors and  made  his  way  to  Newman  Noggs, 
who  received  him  and  wished  to  keep  him  for 
the  night,  "but,  as'Smike  would  not  hear  of  this 

—  pleading  his  anxiety  to  see  his  friends  again 

—  they  eventually  sallied  forth  together;  and 


p 


74 


THE  ALMOSTS 


the  night  bdng,  by  thia  time,  far  advanced,  and 
Smike  being,  besides,  so  footsore  that  he  could 
hardly  crawl  along,  it  was  within  an  hour  of 
sunrise  when  they  reached  their  destination. 

"At  the  first  sound  of  their  voices  outside 
the  house,  Nicholas,  who  had  passed  a  sleepless 
night,  devising  schemes  for  the  recovery  of  his 
lost  charge,  started  from  his  bed,  and  joyfully 
admitted  them.  There  was  so  much  noisy  con- 
versation, and  congratulation,  and  indignation, 
that  the  remainder  of  the  family  were  soon 
awakened,  and  Smike  received  a  warm  and  cor- 
dial welcome,  not  only  from  Kate,  but  from 
Ilirs.  Nickleby." 

Of  the  further  clumsy  efforts  to  capture 
Smike  by  Mr.  Squeers  through  Mr.  Snawley 
(who  pretends  to  be  Smike's  father),  little  need 
be  said.  It  will  be  remembered  that  Nicholas 
and  the  efficient  John  Browdie  take  decisive 
proceedings,  which  are  a  great  credit  to  their 
muscular  training.  Ralph  Nickleby,  the  great- 
est villain  of  all,  here  appears  in  the  company 
ci  the  other  villains. 


\i 


The  story  now  draws  to  a  close.  In  spite  of 
the  cmee  and  kindness  lavished  upon  him, 


.Its. 


ii  ^s.-i 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY 


75 


u 


Smike  became  alarmini^y  ill;  so  reduced  and 
exhausted  that  he  could  scarcely  move  from 
room  to  room  without  assistance;  and  so  worn 
aud  emaciated,  that  it  was  painful  to  look  upon 
him.  Nicholas  was  warned,  by  the  same  medi- 
cal authority  to  whom  he  had  at  first  appealed, 
that  the  last  chance  and  hope  of  his  life  de- 
pended on  his  being  instantly  removed  from 
London.  That  part  of  Devonshire  in  which 
Nicholas  had  been  himself  bred  was  named  as 
the  most  favourable  spot;  but  this  advice  was 
cautiously  coupled  with  the  information  that 
whoever  accompanied  him  thither  must  be 
prepared  for  the  worst;  for  every  token  of 
rapid  consumption  had  appeared,  and  he 
might  never  return  alive.'* 

And  the  kind  Cheeiyble  brothers  provide 
for  him  as  they  provide  for  every  one,  and 
Nicholas  and  the  poor  boy  go  to  the  country. 

"They  procured  a  humble  lodging  in  a  small 
farmhouse,  surrounded  by  meadows,  where 
Nicholas  had  often  revelled  when  a  child  with 
a  troop  of  merry  school  fellows;  and  here  they 
took  up  their  rest. 

"At  first  Smike  was  strong  enough  to  walk 
about,  for  short  distances  at  a  time,  with  no 


i 


1  ''I 

1 


70 


'THE  ALM06TS' 


other  support  or  aid  than  that  which  Nicholas 
could  afford  him.  At  this  time  nothing  ap- 
peared to  interest  him  so  much  as  visiting  those 
places  which  had  been  most  familiar  to  his 
friend  in  bygone  days.  Yielding  to  this  fancy 
and  pleased  to  find  that  its  indulgence  beguiled 
the  sick  boy  of  many  tedious  hours,  and  never 
failed  to  afford  him  matter  for  thought  and 
conversation  afterwards,  Nicholas  made  such 
spots  the  scenes  of  their  daily  rambles;  driv- 
ing him  from  place  to  place  in  a  little  pony- 
chair,  and  supporting  him  on  his  arm  while 
they  walked  slowly  among  these  old  haunts, 
or  lingered  in  the  sunlight  to  take  long  parting 
looks  of  those  which  were  most  quiet  and  beau- 
tiful." 

It  was  at  this  time  that  Smike  saw  the  man 
who  had  taken  him  to  Dotheboys  Hall,  and 
remembered  with  terror  his  evil  face  — 

"He  stood  leaning  upon  his  stick  and  look- 
ing at  me,  exactly  as  I  told  you  I  remembered 
him.  He  was  dusty  with  walking,  and  poorly 
dressed,  —  I  think  his  clothes  were  ragged,  — 
but  directly  I  saw  him,  the  wet  night,  his  face 
when  he  left  me,  the  parlour  I  was  left  in,  and 
the  people  who  were  there,  all  seemed  to  come 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY 


77 


bade  together.  Whm  he  knew  I  saw  him,  he 
looked  frii^tened;  for  he  started,  and  shrunk 
away.  I  have  thought  of  him  by  day  and 
dreamt  of  him  by  night.  He  looked  in  my 
sleep  when  I  was  quite  a  little  child,  and  has 
looked  m  my  sleep  ever  since,  as  he  did  just 
now." 

"And  now  Nicholas  began  to  see  that  hope 
was  gone,  and  that,  upon  the  partner  of  his 
poverty,  and  the  sharer  of  his  better  fortune, 
the  world  was  closing  fast.  There  was  little 
pain,  little  uneasiness,  but  there  was  no  rally- 
ing, no  effort,  no  struggle  for  life.  He  was  worn 
and  wasted  to  the  last  degree;  his  voice  had 
sunk  so  low,  that  he  could  scarce  be  heard  to 
speak.  Nature  was  thoroughly  exhausted,  and 
he  had  lain  him  down  to  die. 

"Nicholas  learnt  for  the  first  time  that  the 
dying  boy,  with  a^l  the  ardour  of  a  nature  con- 
centrated on  one  absorbing,  hopeless,  secret 
passion,  loved  his  sister  Kate. 

"He  had  procured  a  lock  of  her  hair,  which 
hung  at  his  breast,  folded  in  one  or  two  slight 
ribands  she  had  worn.  He  prayed  that,  when  he 
was  dead,  Nicholas  would  take  it  off,  so  that  no 
eyes  but  his  might  see  it,  and  that  when  he  was 


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78 


THE  ALMOSTS 


ii 


i 


H' 


laid  iii  his  coffin  and  about  to  be  placed  in  the 
earth,  he  would  hang  it  round  his  neck  again, 
that  it  might  rest  with  him  in  the  grave. 

**Upon  his  knees  Nicholas  gave  him  this 
pledge,  and  promised  again  that  he  should  rest 
in  the  spot  he  had  pointed  out.  They  embraced, 
and  kissed  each  other  on  the  cheek. 

"Now,"  he  murmured,  "I  am  happy." 

"He  fell  into  a  light  slumber,  and  waking 
smiled  as  before;  then  spoke  of  beautiful  gar- 
dens, which  he  said  stretched  out  before  him, 
and  were  filled  with  figures  of  men,  women, 
and  many  children,  all  with  light  upon  their 
faces;  then  whispered  that  it  was  Eden — and 
so  died." 

Pathetic  and  beautiful  as  the  skill  of  the 
great  writer  has  made  this  picture,  who  shall 
say  that  it  is  wholly  without  foundation?  Yet 
truth  compels  us  to  add  that  such  regard  to 
the  future  and  to  the  organization  of  human  life 
and  its  innermost  meaning,  is  all  but  unknown 
to  'he  mental  defective. 

For  all  that,  Smike  in  some  ways  is  the 
greatest  study  of  a  mental  defective  in  English 
literature.  And  the  greatest  lesson  for  us  is  that 
it  is  our  duty  to  protect  feeble-minded  persons 


I'l 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND 


79 


from  being  exploited  and  cruelly  treated  as 
Squeers  treated  Smike. 

"The  grass  was  green  above  the  dead  boy's 
grave,  and  trodden  by  feet  so  small  and  light, 
that  not  a  daisy  drooped  its  head  beneath  their 
pressure.  Through  all  the  spring  and  summer 
time,  garlands  of  fresh  flowers,  wreathed  by 
infant  hands,  rested  on  the  stone;  and  when  the 
children  came  to  change  them  lest  they  should 
wither  and  be  pleasant  to  him  no  longer,  their 
eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  they  spoke  low  and 
softly. . .  / 


»* 


OuB  Mutual  Fbiend 

Miany  readers  conclude  at  once  that  Sloppy 
is  mentally  defective.  Not  proven.  He  was 
probably  normal. 

Sloppy  —  so  called,  it  is  said,  because  he  was 
found  on  a  sloppy  day.  Sloppy  was  a  beautiful 
newspaper  reader. 

"You  mightn't  think  it,  but  Sloppy  is  a 
beautiful  reader  of  a  newspaper.  He, do  the 
Police  in  different  voices." 

"Of  an  ungainly  make  was  Sloppy.  Too 
much  of  him  longwise,  too  little  of  him  broad- 
wise, and  too  many  sharp  angles  of  him  angle- 


80 


THE  ALMOSTS 


^•J 


.1 


ih 


}  I 

'I 


wise.  One  of  those  shambling  male  human  crea- 
tures bom  to  be  indiscreetly  candid  in  the  reve- 
lation of  buttons;  every  button  he  had  about 
him  glaring  at  the  public  to  a  quite  preter- 
natural extent.  A  considerable  capital  of  knee 
and  elbow  and  wrist  and  ankle,  had  Sloppy, 
and  he  did  n't  know  how  to  dispose  of  it  to  the 
best  advantage,  but  was  always  investing  it  in 
wrong  securities,  and  so  getting  himself  into  em- 
barrassed circumstances.  Full-Private  Number 
One  m  the  Awkward  Squad  of  the  rank  and 
file  of  life  was  Sloppy,  and  yet  had  his  glimmer- 
ing notions  of  standing  true  to  the  Colours.** 

His  remarks  are  not  lacking  in  intelligence, 
and  some  of  his  peculiarities  in  regard  to  but- 
tons and  other  things  may  be  accounted  for 
by  the  peculiarities  of  the  gifted  writer  who 
created  him.  On  the  other  hand,  the  sense  of 
humor  and  reasoning  power  which  he  shows 
on  more  than  one  occasion,  as  well  as  his  capa- 
bilities, are  all  to  the  good. 

"'He  would  have  made  a  wonderful  cabinet- 
maker,' said  Mrs.  Higden,  *if  there  had  been 
the  money  to  put  him  to  it.*  She  had  seen  him 
handle  tools  that  he  had  borrowed  to  mend  the 
mangle,  or  to  knock  a  broken  piece  of  furniture 


|K)   ,: 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND 


81 


' 


together,  in  a  surprising  manner.  As  to  con- 
structing toys  for  the  Minders  out  of  nothing, 
he  had  done  that  daily.  And  once  as  many  as  a 
dozen  people  had  got  together  in  the  lane  to  see 
the  neatness  with  which  he  fitted  the  broken 
pieces  of  a  foreign  monkey's  musical  instrument. 
'  That 's  well,'  said  the  Secretary. '  It  will  not  be 
hard  to  find  a  trade  for  him.* " 

To  be  sure,  there  are  many  mental  defectives 
who  can  do  these  things,  but  Sloppy  setms  to 
have  done  them  with  little  or  no  supervision, 
and  that  is  a  very  different  thing.  Besides,  the 
poor  lad  is  capable  of  self-reproach.  It  is  very 
seldom,  if  ever,  that  a  mental  defective  is 
capable  of  self-reproach. 

When  Mrs.  Betty  Higden  was  buried  — 

"I've  took  it  in  my  head,"  said  Sloppy,  lay- 
ing it,  inconsolable,  against  the  church  door, 
when  all  was  done  — "I've  took  it  in  my 
wretched  head  that  I  might  have  sometimes 
turned  a  little  harder  for  her,  and  it  cuts  me 
deep  to  think  so  now." 

"The  Reverend  Frank  Milvey,  comfortmg 
Sloppy,  expounded  to  him  how  the  best  of  us 
were  more  or  less  remiss  in  our  turnings  at  our 
respective  mangles  —  some  of  us  very  much 


m 


i-< 


St  THE  ALMOSTS 

so  —  and  how  we  were  all  a  halting,  failing, 
feeble,  and  inconstant  crew. 

**She  wam't,  sir,"  said  Sloppy,  taking  this 
ghostly  counsel  rather  ill,  in  behalf  of  his  late 
benefactress.  "Let  us  speak  for  ourselves,  sir. 
She  went  through  with  whatever  duty  she  had 
to  do.  She  went  through  with  me,  she  went 
through  with  the  Minders,  she  went  through 
with  herself,  she  went  through  with  everythink. 
O,  Mrs.  Higden,  Mrs.  Higden,  you  was  a  woman 
and  amother  and  a  mangier  in  amillion  million." 

"  With  those  heartfelt  words  Sloppy  removed 
his  dejected  head  from  the  church  door,  and 
took  it  back  to  the  grave  in  the  comer,  and  laid 
it  down  there,  and  wept  alone.  *Not  a  very  poor 
grave,'  said  the  Reverend  Frank  Milvey, 
brushing  his  hand  across  his  eyes,  *when  it 
has  that  homely  figure  on  it.  Richer,  I  think, 
than  it  could  be  made  by  most  of  the  sculpture 
in  Westminster  Abbey.* 

"They  left  him  undisturbed,  and  passed  out 
at  the  wicket-gate." 


For  Sloppy's  sense  of  humor  —  ^ 
**No,  nor  /  ain't  gone,"  said  another  voice. ' 
"Somebody  else  had  come  in  quietly  by  the 
folding  doors.  Turning  his  head,  Wegg  beheld 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND 


88 


his  persecutor,  the  eva-wakeful  dustman, 
accoutred  with  f antail  hat  and  velveteen  smalls 
complete.  Who,  untying  his  tied-up  broken 
head,  revealed  a  head  that  was  whole,  and  a 
face  that  was  Sloppy's. 

"Ha,  ha,  ha,  gentlemen  I"  roared  Sloppy,  in 
a  peal  of  laughter,  and  with  immeasurable 
relish.  "He  never  thought  as  I  could  sleep 
standing,  and  often  done  it  when  I  turned  for 
Mrs.  HigdenI  He  never  thought  as  I  used  to 
give  Mrs.  Higden  the  Pohce-news  in  different 
voices!  But  I  did  lead  him  a  life  all  through  it, 
gentlemen,  I  hope  I  really  and  truly  did!" 
Here  Mr.  Sloppy  opening  his  mouth  to  a  quite 
alarming  extent,  and  throwing  back  his  head 
to  peal  again,  revealed  incalculable  buttons. 

"Oh!"  said  Wegg,  slightly  discomfited,  but 
not  much  as  yet;  "one  and  one  is  two  not  dis- 
missed, is  it?  Bof  —  fin!  Just  let  me  ask  a 
question.  Who  set  this  chap  on,  in  this  dress, 
when  the  carting  began?  Who  employed  this 
fellow?" 

"J  say!"  remonstrated  Sloppy,  jerking  his 
head  forward.  "No  fellows,  or  I'll  throw  you 
out  of  winder!"  .  .  . 

"The  words  were  but  out  of  his  mouth  when 


h 

It 


V 

I . 
1 


84 


THE  ALMOSTS 


r 


John  Harmou  lifted  his  finger,  and  Sloppy, 
who  was  now  close  to  W^g,  backed  to  Wegg's 
back,  stooped,  grasped  his  coat  collar  behind 
with  both  hands,  and  deftly  swung  him  up  like 
the  sack  of  flour  or  coals  before  mentioned. 
A  countenance  of  special  discontent  and  amaze- 
ment Mr.  Wegg  exhibited  in  this  position,  with 
his  buttons  almost  as  prominently  on  view  as 
Sloppy's  own,  and  with  his  wooden  leg  in  a 
highly  unaccommodating  state.  But  not  for 
many  seconds  was  his  countenance  visible  in 
the  room;  for  Sloppy  lightly  trotted  out  with 
him  and  trotted  down  the  staircase,  Mr.  Venus 
attending  to  open  the  street  door.  Mr.  Sloppy's 
instructions  had  been  to  deposit  his  burden  in 
the  road;  but  a  scavenger's  cart  happening  to 
stand  unattended  at  the  comer,  with  its  little 
ladder  planted  against  the  wheel,  Mr.  S.  found 
it  impossible  to  resist  the  temptation  of  shoot- 
ing Mr.  Silas  Wegg  into  the  cart's  contents. 
A  somewhat  difficult  feat,  achieved  with  great 
dexterity,  and  with  a  prodigious  splash." 

Sloppy  could  find  work  for  himself  — 
"I  could  make  you,"  said  Sloppy,  surveying 
the  room,  —  "I  could  make  you  a  handy  set  of 


DOMBEY  AND  SON 


8S 


nests  to  lay  the  dolls  in.  Or  I  could  make  you  a 
handy  little  set  of  drawers,  to  keep  your  silks 
and  threads  and  scraps  in.  Or  I  could  turn  you 
a  rare  handle  for  that  crutch-stick,  if  it  belongs 
to  him  you  call  your  father." 

"It  belongs  to  me,"  returned  the  little  crea- 
ture, with  a  quick  flush  of  her  face  and  neck. 
"I  am  lame." 

"Poor  Sloppy  flushed  too,  for  there  was  an 
instinctive  delicacy  behind  his  buttons,  and  his 
own  hand  had  struck  it.  He  said,  perhaps,  the 
best  thing  in  the  way  of  amends  that  could  be 
said.  "I  am  very  glad  it's  yours,  because  I'd 
rather  ornament  it  for  you  than  for  any  one 
else.  Please  may  I  look  at  it?" 

Sloppy's  mental  capital  was,  after  all,  by  no 
means  insignificant.  It  is  scarcely  likely  that 
Dickens  intended  him  to  be  a  mental  defective. 


DOMBET  AND  SoN 

Mr.  Edwin  Percy  Whipple,  m  his  Introduc- 
tion to  "Dombey  and  Son,"  says:  "Toots  must 
be  considered  one  of  Dickens's  most  delicious 
characterizations,  in  that  domain  of  character 
in  which  he  preemmently  excelled,  namely,  the 


•  :" 


86 


THE  ALMOSTS 


representation  of  individuals  in  whom  benevo- 
lence of  feeling  is  combined  with  imperfection 
of  intellect." 

Mr.  Whipple  tells  us  in  the  same  paragraph 
that  "Owing  to  excessive  cramming,  he  (Toots) 
began,  as  soon  as  he  had  whiskers,  to  leave  off 
having  brains.**  With  this  view  of  Mr.  Toots's 
mental  condition,  we  can  hardly  agree  in  these 
days.  He  was  one  of  the  high-grade  mental 
defectives  whose  feeble-mindedness  does  not 
become  unmistakable  until  the  time  arrives 
when  they  ought  to  begin  to  bear  the  real  re- 
sponsibility of  life  —  to  be  "grown-up"  as  the 
conmion  phrase  has  it.  But  Mr.  Toots  be- 
longs to  the  class  who  do  not  quite  grow  up. 
At  the  "awkward  age"  for  boys  and  girls, 
somewhere  between  boyhood  and  manhood,  or 
girlhood  and  womanhood,  when  some  foolish 
word  or  action  disturbs  their  parents,  how  often 
have  we  heard  the  father  or  mother  express  the 
wish  and  hope  that  their  o£fspring  would  soon 
"get  more  sense."  Normal  boys  and  girls  do 
"get  more  sense." 

You  shall  hardly  be  able  to  recognize  Young 
Hopeful  three  years  from  now  —  when  he  has 
found  himself.  It  was  only  an  awkward  flutter- 


DOMBEY  AND  SON 


87 


ing  when  he  tried  the  first  few  flights  from  the 
parent  nest.  He  is  all  right  before  long.  But  the 
Mr.  Toots  type  never  "gets  more  sense." 

We  meet  Mr.  Toots  when  we  go  to  Dr. 
Blimber's  School  in  company  with  little  Paul 
Dombey.  Mr.  Toots  is  overgrown  and  employs 
himself  in  blushing  and  chuckling.  He  shows 
himself  kindly  disposed  to  Paul  when  they 
meet  again  in  the  schoolroom,  but  he  cannot 
get  the  name  "Dombey  and  Son"  into  his 
mind,  and  says  he  will  ask  Paul  to  mention  the 
name  again  to-morrow  morning.  This  is  so  that 
he  can  write  himself  a  letter  from  Dombey  and 
Son  immediately .  This,  of  course,  is  the  accom- 
plishment for  which  Dickens  has  made  Toots 
famous  —  writmg  letters  to  himself.  We  often 
see  him  at  this  occupation  in  the  course  of  the 
story.  But  we  never  hear  hkn  say  a  really  sen- 
sible word: 

"How  are  you?"  he  would  ^ay  *'  P»ul  fifty 
times  a  day. 

"Quite  well,  sir,  thank  you,"  P^4il  would 
answer.  "Shake  hands,"  would  be  "^  -"♦t'^'s  next 
advance.  Which  Paul,  of  course,  »  *  \  ame- 
diately  do.  Mr.  Toots  generally  said  ...^  n  after 
a  long  interval  of  staring  and  hard  b  eathing. 


m 


!  j 

liM 


!  T   - 

i 


88  THE  ALMOSTS 

"How  are  you?"  To  which  Paul  again  replied, 
"Quite  well,  sir,  thank  you." 

Every  sensible  person  must  pay  proper  atten- 
tion to  dress.  But  Mr.  Toots  pays  a  foolish 
attention  to  it.  At  the  school  party  — "Mr. 
Toots  was  one  blaze  of  jewellery  and  buttons; 
and  he  felt  the  circumstance  so  strongly  that 
...  he  took  Paul  aside,  and  said,  *  What  do  you 
think  of  this,  Dombeyl' 

"But  notwithstanding  this  modest  confi- 
dence in  hJinself ,  Mr.  Toots  appeared  to  be 
mvolved  in  a  good  deal  of  uncertainty  whether, 
on  the  whole,  it  was  judicious  to  button  the 
bottom  button  of  his  waistcoat,  and  whether  on 
a  cahn  revision  of  all  the  circumstances,  it  was 
best  to  wear  his  wrist-bands  turned  up  or 
turned  down.  Observing  that  Mr.  Feeder's  were 
turned  up,  Mr.  Toots  turned  his  up;  but  the 
wrist-bands  of  the  next  arrival  being  turned 
down,  Mr.  Toots  turned  his  down.  The  differ- 
ences in  point  of  waistcoat  buttoning,  not  only 
at  the  bottom,  but  at  the  top  too,  became  so 
numerous  and   complicated   as   the  arrivals 
thickened,   Ihat  Mr.  Toots  was  continually 
fingering  that  article  of  dress,  ''s  ii  he  were  per- 
forming on  some  instrument,  and  appearing 


» 1 ,  I 


DOMBEY  AND  SON 


80 


^% 


to  find  the  incessant  execution  it  demanded 
quite  bewildering." 

When  raw  materiab  are  under  consideration 
and  that  distinguished  commercial  gentleman, 
Mr.  Baps,  attempts  to  ask  Mr.  Toots  what 
should  be  done  with  raw  materials  when  they 
came  into  your  ports  in  return  for  your  drain 
of  gold,  Mr.  Toots  is  quite  capable  of  replying 
—  "Cook 'em." 

Mr.  Toots's  conversation,  when  he  calls  on 
Florence  after  Paul  Dombey's  death  is  a  perfect 
eicample,  for  the  most  part,  of  the  conversation 
of  a  feeble-minded  person. 

"You  were  very  kind  to  my  dear  brother," 
said  Florence. . . . 

"Oh,  it's  of  no  consequence,"  said  Mr. 
Toots,  hastily.  "Warm,  ain't  it?"  And  so  on 
and  so  on. 

"Nothing  seemed  to  do  Mr.  Toots  so  much 
good  as  incessantly  leaving  cards  at  Mr.  Dom- 
bey's door.  No  tax-gatherer  in  the  British 
Dominions  —  that  wide-spread  territory  on 
which  the  sun  never  sets,  and  where  the  tax- 
gatherer  never  goes  to  bed  —  was  more  regular 
and  persevering  in  his  calls  than  Mr.  Toots. 
'Mr.  Toots  never  went  upstairs;  and  always 


m 


ij 


■A 


**^ 


V'  1 

H   '^': 

■sfl 

if  ^^  '■ 

j*i.? ' 

1*;* 

!/■ 

^  i " 

i. 

i 

It 


J.' 

I- 


1 4, 


!       • 


ii; 


00 


THE  ALMOSTS 


performed  the  same  ceremonies,  richly-dressed 
for  the  purpose,  at  the  hall-door." 

At  length  Mr.  Toots  manages  to  get  inside 
the  hall-door  and  attempted  to  kiss  Florence 
Dombey's  maid,  the  ever  alert  Miss  Susan 
Nipper. 

"Go  along  with  you,"  exclaimed  Susan,  giv- 
ing him  a  push.  "Innocents  like  you,  tool 
Who'll  begin  next!  Go  along,  sir  I"  Thereupon 
t'le  cheering  scene  follows  in  which  Diogenes, 
the  dog,  seizes  Mr.  Toots  by  the  leg,  and  Mr. 
Carker  comes  to  the  rescue. 

Mr.  Toots  falls  into  the  clutches  of  the  Game 
Chicken,  'the  celebrated  public  character  who 
had  covered  himself  and  his  country  with  glory 
m  his  contest  with  the  Nobby  Shropshire  One." 
The  ex-prize  fighter,  though  perhaps  not  of  a 
very  high  order  of  intelligence,  knows  enough 
to  recognize  Mr.  Toots  as  a  gold  mine,  and  to 
make  a  good  living  out  of  him,  Mr.  Toots  being 
by  no  means  able  to  take  care  either  of  himself 
or  his  money.  The  Game  Chicken  is  "jealous 
of  his  ascendancy"  and  tries  to  keep  every  one 
else  away  from  Toots.  However,  Captain  Cut- 
tle, and  above  all,  Florence,  are  not  forgotten 
by  Mr.  Toots.  Toots  knows  that  Florence  is 


DOMBEY  AND  SON 


91 


an  angel,  and  frequently  says  so.  He  says  to 
Captain  Gills,  "If  I  could  be  dyed  black,  and 
made  into  Miss  Dombey's  slave,  I  would  con- 
sider it  a  compliment." 

When  Susan  Nipper  rejoins  her  mistress  after 
their  cruel  separation,  she  has  evidently  learned 
somewhat  more  of  Mr.  Toots's  character  — 

"I  —  I  —  I  —  never  did  see  such  a  creetur 
as  that  Toots,"  said  Susan,  "in  all  my  bom 
days,  never!" 

"...  He  may  not  be  a  Solomon,"  pursued 
the  Nipper,  with  her  usual  volubility,  "nor  do 
I  say  he  is,  but  this  I  do  say,  a  less  selfish 
human  creature  human  nature  never  knewl" 

After  the  interview  with  Florence  in  which 
Toots  takes  farewell  of  her,  having  learned  of 
her  approaching  marriage  to  "Lieutenant 
Walters,"  an  interview  in  which  the  sweet  and 
kind  ways  and  words  of  Florence  comfort  even 
the  dejected  Mr.  Toots,  that  gentleman  pre- 
vails upon  Susan  Nipper  to  accompany  him  to 
church  in  order  to  hear  the  banns  for  Florence 
and  the  Lieutenant. 

This  and  other  small  indications  prepare  us 
somewhat  for  the  scene  in  which  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Toots  (nie  Nipper)  call  upon  Dr.  Blimber. , 


pi 

II 


■     i 


m 


P 

153 


*i« 


■:l 


III  : 


M 


THE  ALMOSTS 


The  closing  scene  in  which  Mr.  Toots  appears 
in  this  book  is  at  the  Midshipman. 

"Mr.  Toots's  face  is  very  red  as  he  bursts 
into  the  little  parlour.'* 

"Captain  Gills,"  says  Mr.  Toots,  "and  Mr. 
Sols,  I  am  happy  to  inform  you  that  Mrs. 
Toots  has  had  an  increase  to  her  family. . . . 
We're  positively  gettmg  on,  you  know.  There's 
Florence  and  Susan  and  now  here's  another 
little  stranger." 

"A  female  stranger?"  inquires  the  Captain. 

"Yes,  Captain  Gflls,"  says  Mr.  Toots,  "and 
I'm  glad  of  it.  The  ofteper  we  can  repeat  that 
most  extraordinary  woman,  my  opinion  is,  the 
better." 

True.  But  what  would  poor  Susan  think 
when  Florence  and  little  Susan  and  the  other 
Uttle  stranger  perhaps  turned  out  as  "mno- 
centest"  as  their  father.  Toots  may  be  amusmg. 
He  had  money  to  help  to  make  him  so,  and 
Dickens  to  make  us  see  him  so.  But  the  bur- 
den of  the  feeble-minded  and  their  children  in 
modem  real  life  is  not  amusing,  but  tragic  and 
awful. 


BLEAK  HOUSB 


Bleak  House 

An  authority  on  Dickens  once  told  me  that 
"Jo"  in  "Bleak  House"  was  perhaps  the  best 
example  of  a  mental  defective  in  Dickens's 
works.  "Of  course  there  is  *Jo*  m  *Bleak 
House,'"  he  said.  He  had  forgotten,  for  the 
moment,  that  it  is  possible  for  a  poor  boy,  un- 
fortunate, untaught,  uncared-for,  and  utterly 
neglected,  to  be  thought  mentally  defective 
when  he  is  really  normal.  There  is  a  character 
in  "Bleak  House"  who  is  a  mental  defective, 
but  it  is  poor  "Guster."  "Jo"  is  not  mentally 
defective. 

"Guster,  really  aged  three  or  four  and 
twenty,  but  looking  a  round  ten  years  older, 
goes  cheap  with  this  unaccoimtable  drawback 
of  fits;  and  is  so  apprehensive  of  being  returned 
on  the  hands  of  her  patron  saint  that  except 
when  she  is  found  with  her  head  in  the  pail,  or 
the  sink,  or  the  copper,  or  the  dinner,  or  any- 
thing else  that  happens  to  be  near  her  at  the 
time  of  her  seizure,  she  is  always  at  work.  She 
is  a  satisfaction  to  the  parents  and  guardians 
of  the  'Prentices,  who  feel  that  there  is  little 
danger  of  her  inspiring  tender  emotions  in  the 


m 

m 
-111 


\-Si   \ 


If  ^ 

pi 

-Is 

vS 


1! 


i 


ill 
IC!:.  i 


m  I. 


Hi 


1' 


J    s 


04  THE  ALMOSTS 

breast  of  youth;  she  is  a  satisfaction  to  Mrs. 
Snagsby,  who  can  always  find  fault  with  her; 
she  is  a  satisfaction  to  Mr.  Snagsby,  who  thinks 
it  a  charity  to  keep  her.  The  law  stationer's 
establishment  is,  in  Guster's  eyes,  a  temple  of 
plenty  and  splendour.  She  believes  the  little 
drawing-room  upstairs,  always  kept,  as  one 
may  say,  with  its  hair  in  papers  and  its  pina- 
fore on,  to  be  the  most  elegant  apartment 
in  Christendom.  The  view  it  commands  of 
Cook's  Court  at  one  end  (not  to  mention  a 
squint  into  Cursitor  Street)  and  of  Coavinses 
the  sheriff's  oflScer's  back  yard  at  the  other,  she 
regards  as  a  prospect  of  unequalled  beauty. 
The  portraits  it  displays  in  oil  —  and  plenty 
of  it,  too  —  of  Mr.  Snagsby  looking  at  Mrs. 
Snagsby,  and  of  Mrs.  Snagsby  looking  at  Mr. 
Snagsby,  are  in  her  eyes  as  achievements  of 
Raphael  or  Titian.  Guster  has  some  recom- 
penses for  her  many  privations." 

Jo  appears  first  at  the  inquest  upon  a  man 
who  died  unknown.  Mrs.  Piper  deposed  — 
"Never  see  him  speak  to  neither  child  nor 
grown  person  at  any  time  (excepting  the  boy 
that  sweeps  the  crossing  d  own  the  lane  over  the 
way  round  the  comer  which  if  he  was  here 


fi 


If. 

i  I 

it' 
m 


IE-* 


It: 


BLEAK  HOUSE 


05 


would  tell  you  that  he  has  been  seen  a  speaking 
to  him  frequent) "  —  so  the  boy  is  sent  for. 

"  Name,  Jo.  Nothing  else  that  he  knows  on. 
Don't  know  that  everybody  has  two  names. 
Never  heard  of  sich  a  think.  Don't  know  that 
Jo  is  short  for  a  longer  name.  Thinks  it  long 
enough  for  him.  He  don't  find  no  faiilt  with  it. 
Spell  it?  No.  He  can't  spell  it.  No  father,  no 
mother,  no  friends.  Never  been  to  school. 
What's  home?  Eiiows  a  broom's  a  broom,  and 
knows  it's  wicked  to  tell  a  lie.  Don't  recollect 
who  told  him  about  the  broom,  or  about  the 
lie,  but  knows  both.  Can't  exactly  say  what '11 
be  done  to  him  arter  he's  dead  if  he  tells  a  lie 
to  the  gentlemen  here,  but  believes  it'll  be 
something  wery  bad  to  punish  him,  and  serve 
him  right  —  and  so  he'll  tell  the  truth." 
Jo's  account  of  himself  to  the  Coroner  is  — 
"That  one  cold  winter  night,  when  he,  the 
boy,  was  shivering  in  a  doorway  near  his  cross- 
ing, the  man  turned  to  look  at  him,  and  came 
back,  and,  having  questioned  him  and  found 
that  he  had  not  a  friend  in  the  world,  said, 
'Neither  have  I.  Not  one!'  and  gave  him  the 
price  of  a  supper  and  a  night's  lodging.  That 
the  man  had  often  spoken  to  him  since;  and 


iM*J 


44 


i 


i 


k\  i; 


* 

rs  1 


u 


06  THE  ALMOSTS 

asked  him  whether  he  slept  sound  at  night,  and 
how  he  bore  cold  and  hunger,  ard  whether  he 
ever  wished  to  die;  and  similar  strange  ques- 
tions. That  when  the  man  had  no  money,  he 
would  say  in  passing,  *  I  am  as  poor  as  you 
to-day,  Jo';  but  *Jiat  when  he  had  any,  he  had 
always  (as  the  boy  most  heartily  believes)  been 
glad  to  give  him  some. 

"He  wos  wery  good  to  me,"  says  the  boy, 
wiping  his  eyes  with  his  wretched  sleeve. 
"Wen  I  see  him  a  layin*  so  stritched  out  just 
now,  I  wished  he  could  have  heerd  me  tell  him 
so.  He  wos  wery  good  to  me,  he  wos  I"  . .  . 

"Mr.  Snagsby,  lying  in  wait  for  him,  puts  a 
half-crown  in  his  hand.  *  If  ever  you  see  me  com- 
ing past  your  crossing  with  my  little  woman 
—  I  mean  a  lady'  —  says  Mr.  Snagsby,  with 
his  finger  on  his  nose,  *  don't  allude  to  it!' 


i»»» 


Jo  has  imagination.  The  mentally  defective 
have  imagination  sometimes  but  not  often. 
Would  a  mental  defective  perform  such  an  act 

as  this? 

"With  the  night  comes  a  slouching  figure 
through  the  tunnel-court,  to  the  outside  of  the 
iron  gate.  It  holds  the  gate  with  its  hands,  and 


BLEAK  HOUSE 


97 


looks  in  between  the  bars;  stands  looking  in, 
for  a  little  while. 

"It  then,  with  an  old  broom  it  carries,  softly 
sweeps  the  step,  and  makes  the  archway  clean. 
It  does  so,  very  busily  and  trimly;  looks  in 
again,  a  little  while;  and  so  departs. 

"Jo,  is  it  thou?  Well,  welll  Though  a  re- 
jected witness,  who  *  can't  exactly  say'  what 
will  be  done  to  him  in  greater  hands  than  men's, 
thou  art  not  quite  in  outer  darkness.  There  is 
something  like  a  distant  ray  of  light  in  thy 
muttered  reason  for  this:  — 

"'He  wos  wery  good  to  me,  he  wos!' .  . . 

"A  band  of  music  comes  and  plays.  Jo  listens 
to  it.  So  does  a  dog  —  a  drover's  dog,  waitmg 
for  his  master  outside  a  butcher's  shop,  and 
evidently  thinking  about  those  sheep  he  has 
had  upon  his  mind  for  some  hours,  and  is  hap- 
pily rid  of.  He  seems  perplexed  respecting  three 
or  four;  can't  remember  where  he  left  them; 
looks  up  and  down  the  street,  as  half  expecting 
to  see  them  astray;  suddenly  pricks  up  his  ears 
and  remembers  all  about  it.  A  thoroughly  vaga- 
bond dog,  accustomed  to  low  company  and 
public  houses;  a  terrific  dog  to  sheep;  ready  at 
a  whistle  to  scamper  over  their  backs,  and  tear 


i-      1 1 


4; 


V. 


5   5 


<    ! 


!t  5' 


m 
J]  ^' 

m  I; 


ft  1 

Hi  I 

« t    ■ 


I  If 

•a,  -    s-      , 

hi 

ll  i   ' 


08  THE  ALMOSTS 

out  mouthfuls  of  their  wool;  but  an  educated, 
improved,  developed  dog,  who  has  been  taught 
his  duties  and  knows  how  to  discharge  them. 
He  and  Jo  listen  to  the  music,  probably  with 
much  the  same  amount  of  animal  satisfaction; 
likewise,  as  to  awakened  association,  aspiration 
or  regret,  melancholy  or  joyful  reference  to 
things  beyond  the  senses,  they  are  probably 
upon  a  par.  But  otherwise,  how  far  above  the 
human  listener  is  the  brute! 

"Turn  that  dog's  descendants  wild,  like  Jo, 
and  in  a  very  few  years  they  will  so  degenerate 
that  they  will  lose  even  their  bark  —  but  not 
their  bite." 

Jo  appears  next  as  a  guide  to  Lady  Ded- 
lock,  when,  in  disguise,  she  visits  the  places 
mentioned  in  the  account  of  the  inquest  ap- 
pearing in  the  newspapers. 

Poor  Jo  is  moved  on  by  the  arbitrary  and 
cruel  constable,  but  this  incident  gives  us  evi- 
dence of  the  real  mental  powers  that  he  pos- 
sessed— 

"You  are  very  poor,  ain't  you?"  says  the 
constable. 

"Yes,  I  am,  indeed,  sir,  wery  poor  in  gin'ral, 
replies  Jo. 


*> 


1  ■! 


I 


BLEAK  HOUSE 


00 


"I  leave  you  to  judge  now  1 1  shook  these  two 
half-crowns  out  of  him,"  says  the  constable, 
producing  them  to  the  company,  "in  only  put- 
ting my  hand  upon  him!" 

"They're  wofs  left,  Mr.  Snagsby,"  said 
Jo,  "out  of  a  sov'ring  as  wos  given  me  by  a 
lady  in  a  wale  as  sed  she  wos  a  servant  and  as 
come  to  my  crossin'  one  night  and  asked  to  be 
showd  this  'ere  ouse  and  the  ouse  wot  him  as 
you  giv  the  writin'  to  died  at,  and  the  berrin- 
ground  wot  he's  berrid  in.  She  ses  to  me  she 
ses  'are  you  the  boy  at  the  Inkwhich?'  she 
ses.  I  ses  'yes*  I  ses.  She  ses  to  me  she  ses  'can 
you  show  me  all  them  places?*  I  ses  'yes  I 
can'  I  ses.  And  she  ses  to  me  'do  it'  and  I  dun 
it  and  she  giv  me  a  sov'ring  and  hooked  it. 
And  I  ain't  had  much  of  the  sov'ring  neither," 
says  Jo,  with  dirty  tears,  "fur  I  had  to  pay  five 
bob,  down  in  Tom-all-alone's,  afore  they'd 
square  it  fur  to  giv  me  change,  and  then  a 
young  man  he  thieved  another  five  while  I 
was  asleep  and  another  boy  he  thieved  nine- 
pence  and  the  landlord  he  stood  drains  round 
with  a  lot  more  on  it." 

"You  don't  expect  anybody  to  believe  this, 
about  the  lady  and  the  sovereign,  do  you?  "  says 


i| 


1 


5. 
1 

'8 

i 


iiH; 


tl 


'If 


i « 


M 


100  THE  ALMOSTS 

the  constable,  eyeing  him  aside  with  ineflfable 

disdain. 

"I  don't  know  as  I  do,  sir,"  replies  Jo.  "I 
don't  expect  nothink  at  all,  sir,  much,  but 
that's  the  true  hist'ry  on  it." 

It  is  well  known  that  seldom,  indeed,  can 
mental  defectives  manage  to  make  change. 
Jo  probably  could  have  learned  a  great  deal  if 
he  had  had  an  opportunity.  He  had  no  school- 
ing. His  power  of  recognition  of  persons  is  not 
so  much  to  the  pomt,  although  it  is  sufficiently 
wonderful  in  its  way.  Mental  defectives  often 
possess  such  powers,  and  Uke  children  they 
frequently  are  remarkable  judges  of  character. 

Had  the  plot  of  the  story  permitted  us  to 
know  more  of  Jo's  early  history,  or  of  his  de- 
velopment, it  would  have  been  easier  to  pro- 
nounce him  normal,  or  possibly,  on  the  other 
hand,  mentally  defective.  But  judgmg  from 
what  we  are  told,  he  does  not  appear  to  be 
mentally  defective. 


M  i 


<■! 


CHAPTER  III 

BULWER  LTTTON:   CHARLES  READE:   VIOTOB 

HUGO:    GEORGE  BfACDONALD:    GEORGE  ELIOT: 

JOSEPH  CONRAD :  ROBERT 

LOUIS  STEVENSON 

Bur.wER  Lttton — Ernxbt  Maltravebs 
In  "Eraest  Maltravera"  and  the  sequel 
"Alice,"  Bulwer  Lytton  introduces  a  beautiful 
girl  who  is  evidently  regarded  by  her  father 
as  mentally  defective.  These  two  novels  are 
not  only  a  romance,  but  a  romance  de  luxe  as 

were.  Ernest  falls  in  love  and  goes  through 
all  the  beautiful  and  distr'^'^ting  experiences  of 
such  a  state,  not  once  but  .  ^imes,  so  that 
the  reader  is  not  deprived  of  hi::>  rights  in  any 
possible  particular. 

This  is  a  book  which  should  be  read  in  early 
youth,  when  it  is  possible  to  believe  everything, 
even  that  Alice  Darvil  could  have  been  so 
charming  and  beautiful  and  ('•^irable  and  yet 
be  the  daughter  of  one  of  tite  worst  villains 
ever  created  by  the  imagination  of  the  gifted 
author.  Of  course  the  villain  meets  his  death  at 
the  proper  moment. 


HI 

'  if  ■ 
il  1 


¥  , 


it 


lip 


SI 


1 
1  * 

Si     • 


IM  THE  ALM06TS 

Alice  is  thus  described  when  ihe  ii  introduceJ 
to  the  reader: 

'*She  seemed  about  fifteen  years  of  age;  and 
her  complexion  was  remarkably  pure  and  deli- 
cate, even  despite  the  sunburnt  tinge  which  her 
habits  of  toil  had  brought  it.  Her  auburn  hair 
hung  in  loose  and  natural  curls  over  her  fore- 
head, and  its  luxuriance  was  remarkable  even 
in  one  so  young.  Her  countenance  was  beauti- 
ful, nay,  even  faultless,  m  its  small  and  child- 
like features;  but  the  expression  pained  you,  — 
it  was  so  vacant.  In  repose  it  wat*  dmost  the 
expression  of  an  idiot;  but  when  sne  spoke  or 
smiled,  or  even  moved  a  muscle,  the  eyes,  color, 
lips,  kindled  into  life  which  proved  that  the 
intellect  was  still  there,  though  but  imperfectly 
awakened." 

"I  did  not  steal  any,  father,"  she  said,  in  a 
quiet  voice;  "but  I  should  like  to  have  taken 
some  only  I  knew  you  would  beat  me  if  I  did." 
"And  what  do  you  want  money  for?" 
"To  get  food  when  I'm  hungered." 
The  author  wisely  does  not  commit  himself 
to  the  statement  that  Alice  was  mentally  de- 
fective, but  there  is,  as  the  reader  will  have 
aheady  concluded,  much  reason  to  consider 


..ll 


■I 


EBNEST  BiALTRAVEBS 


106 


that,  in  the  author*!  opinion,  she  was  mentally 
defective. 

The  appearance  of  Ernest  Maltravers  has 
the  effect  of  beginning  tLe  awakening  of  her 
mind  according  to  the  story.  This  '*  awaken- 
ing" cannot  happen  when  the  mind  is  really 
defective,  because  that  defect  is  chiefly  shown 
in  the  absence  of  it  2  power  to  develop  and 
leani. 

Alice  shows  a  good  deal  of  sense  and  discre- 
tion in  assisting  Ernest  to  make  his  escape,  and 
when  she  meets  him  by  chance  afterwards, 
there  begins  that  interest!  and  affection  be- 
tween them  which  is  the  main  thread  in  the 
story.  < 

Finding  that  Alice  has  been  ill-used  because 
she  helped  him  to  escape,  and  that  she  is  quite 
destitute,  having  run  away  from  her  father's 
ill-treatment,  Maltravers,  with  platonic  inten- 
tions, arranged  for  Alice  to  live  in  a  cottage 
with  him  and  engaged  an  old  woman  as  a  serv- 
ant. Thinking  it  prudent  to  conceal  his  name, 
he  adopted  the  name  of  Butler,  and  devoted 
himself  during  his  residence  in  this  place  to 
teaching  Alice  music.  Her  accomplishment  in 
this  direction  anc  others,  in  which  Mr.  Simcox 


'  it 

HP 

';  t 


« 


'  It 


11 


^'1 


.1 1 


I; 


Si' t 


II  I: 


W 1 


104  THE  ALMOSTS 

is  her  teacher,  practically  settles  the  question 
as  to  whether  or  not  she  is  mentally  defective. 
Indeed,  we  learn  later  on  in  the  story  that  she 
was  to  earn  her  own  living  by  giving  lessons  in 
music.  This  a  mentally  defective  person  would 
not  have  been  able  to  do. 

The  scene  of  the  hero's  adventures  now 
changes  and  Alice  temporarily  disappears 
from  the  story,  but  the  consequences  of  the 
romance  skillfully  mterwoven  with  the  story 
are  of  unusual  interest. 

The  unfortunate  Alice  is  discovered  by  her 
father  and  escapes  from  him  once  more,  after 
many  trials  and  many  difficulties.  The  cottage 
where  she  and  Ernest  were  so  happy  together 
is  improved  beyond  recognition  by  a  new 
tenant  so  that  all  trace  of  their  residence  is  lost. 
A  good  Samaritan  now  appears  upon  the 
scene  in  the  person  of  the  charitable  Mrs.  Leslie, 
and  indeed  it  is  Mrs.  Leslie  who  arranges  for 
Alice  to  take  up  her  abode  with  a  music-master 
where  Alice  earns  her  own  living. 

Mr.  Templeton,  a  banker,  meeting  her  and 
being  charmed  by  her,  wishes  to  make  better 
arrangements  for  her,  but  Alice  declines  — 
"Because,"   said   Alice,   ahnost   solemnly. 


if-  i 


ERNEST  MALTRAVEBS 


lOS 


"there  are  some  hours  when  I  feel  I  must  be 
alone.  I  sometimes  think  I  am  not  all  right  here** 
and  she  touched  her  forehead.  "They  called 
me  an  idiot  before  I  knew  him  I  No,  I  could  not 
live  with  others,  for  I  can  only  cry  when  no- 
body but  my  child  is  with  me." 

Later  on  Mr.  Templeton  insists  on  her  mar- 
rying him,  but  she  does  so  only  upon  condition 
that  she  remains  his  wife  in  name  alone. 

Once  Ernest  sees  her  when  some  one  has 
persuaded  him  to  go  to  hear  a  celebrated 
preacher  — 

"The  dim  outline  of  a  female  form,  in  the 
distance,  riveted  the  eyes  and  absorbed  the 
thoughts  of  Maltravers.  The  chapel  was  dark- 
ened, though  it  was  broad  daylight;  and  the 
face  of  the  person  that  attracted  Ernest's  atten- 
tion was  concealed  by  her  head-dress  and  veil. 
But  that  bend  of  the  neck,  so  simply  graceful, 
so  humbly  modest,  recalled  to  his  heart  but 
one  image.  Every  one  has,  perhaps,  observed 
that  there  is  a  physiognomy  (if  the  bull  may 
be  pardoned)  of  form  as  well  as  face,  which  it 
rarely  happens  that  two  persons  possess  in 
common.  And  this,  with  most,  is  peculiarly 
marked  in  the  turn  of  the  head,  the  outline  of 


I 


m 


i. 


106 


THE  ALMOSTS 


ii  ' 


^'i 


i 

II  s 


:, 

; 
1 1 

i 


■  i 


l-E   i  '  i 

1,1. 


[f  {■ 


the  shoulders,  and  the  ineffable  something  that 
characterizes  the  postures  of  each  individual 
in  repose.  The  more  intently  he  gazed,  the  more 
finnly  Ernest  was  persuaded  that  he  saw  before 
him  the  long-lost,  the  never-to-be-forgotten 
mistress  of  his  boyish  days,  and  his  first  love." 
He  was  unable  to  find  her  afterwards.  The 
above  description  is  quoted  because  it  becomes 
evident  that  it  is  r  ot  the  description  of  one  who 
is  a  mental  defective. 

Alice 

The  second  volume  "Alice"  contains  but 
little  allusion  to  Alice  herself.  She  appears,  it 
is  trae,  in  the  first  chapter,  along  with  Mrs. 
Leslie,  in  a  charming  scene,  of  which  she  is  her- 
self the  chief  charm.  The  skillful  mterweaving 
of  the  author's  interesting  and  intricate  plot 
cannot  be  further  referred  to  here. 

The  unknown  Alice  becomes  Lady  Vargrave 
by  these  ways  which  are  so  uniformly  success- 
ful in  novels  but  not  always  in  real  life.  Alice 
never,  however,  forgets  Ernest,  and  one  of  the 
interesting  wiles  of  the  author  which  keeps  alive 
our  attention  and  pleasure  is  that  she  does  not 
know  Ernest  as  Maltravers,  but  only  as  Butler. 


,<{5 


ALICE 


107 


Later  on  in  the  story  some  one  called  Butler 
begins  to  be  known  as  an  author. 

The  curate,  one  of  her  best  friends,  who 
knows  her  history,  says  of  this  writer: 

"He  must  have  a  spell  in  his  works  that  I 
have  not  discovered;  for  at  times  it  seems  to 
operate  even  on  you." 

"Because,"  said  Lady  Vargrave,  "they 
remind  me  of  his  conversation,  his  habits  of 
thought." 

"And  if,"  said  the  curate  curiously,  —  "if, 
now  that  you  are  free,  you  were  ever  to  meet 
with  him  again,  and  his  memory  had  been  as 
faithful  as  yours;  and  if  he  offered  the  sole 
atonement  in  his  power  for  all  that  his  early 
error  cost  you,  —  if  such  a  chance  should 
happen  in  the  vicissitudes  of  life,  you  would — ** 
"The  curate  stopped  short;  for  he  was  struck 
by  the  exceeding  paleness  of  his  friend's  cheek 
and  the  tremor  of  her  delicate  frame. 

"If  that  were  to  happen,"  said  she,  in  a 
very  low  voice;  "if  we  were  to  meet  again,  and 
if  he  were  —  as  you  and  Mrs.  Leslie  seem  to 
think  —  poor,  and  like  myself,  humbly  bom; 
if  my  fortune  could  assist  him;  if  my  love  could 
still  —  changed,  altered,  as  I  am  —  ah,  do 


^51 
II 


il 


]     ■ 


h 


i    '- 


rh 


1^: 

'III' 


108  [THE'ALMOSTS 

not  talk  of  it,  —  I  cannot  bear  the  thought  of 
happmessi  And  yet,  if  before  I  die  I  antld  but 
see  him  again!" 

"She  clasped  her  hands  fervently  as  she 
spoke,  and  the  blush  that  overspread  her  face 
threw  over  it  so  much  of  bloom  and  freshness 
that  even  Evelyn  at  that  moment  would 
scarcely  have  seemed  more  young. 

"Enough,"  she  added,  frfter  a  little  while, 
as  the  glow  died  away.  "It  is  but  a  foolish  hope; 
all  (..  thly  love  is  buried;  and  my  heart  is 
there!" 

"She  pointed  to  the  heavens,  and  both 
were  silent." 

In  the  end  all  the  villains  receive  their  deserts 
and  the  heroes  and  heroines  their  just  rewards, 
and  Alice  and  her  lover,  in  spite  of  many 
threatening  clouds,  appear  at  the  end  united, 
and  with  the  sun  of  happiness  shining  upon 
them. 

"Maltravers  rose,  and  they  stood  before 
each  other,  face  to  face.  And  how  lovely  still 
was  Alice,  —  lovelier,  he  thought,  even  than  of 
old!  And  those  eyes,  so  divinely  blue,  so  dove- 
like and  soft,  yet  with  some  spiritual  and  un- 
fathomable mystery  in  their  clear  depth,  were 


\:ii-  ! 


il 


Sit.-; 

■  I  ■'■: 


PUT  YOURSELF  IN  HIS  PLACE  109 

once  more  fixed  upon  him.  Alice  seemed  turned 
to  stone;  she  moved  not;  she  spoke  not,  —  she 
scarcely  breathed;  she  gazed  spellbound  as  if 
her  senses  —  as  if  life  itself  —  had  deserted 
her. 

"Alice  1"  murmured  Maltravers,  —  "Alice, 
we  meet  at  lastl" 

His  voice  restored  memory,  consciousness, 
youth,  at  once  to  her.  She  uttered  a  long  cry  of 
unspeakable  joy,  of  rapture  I . . .  and  said  pas- 
sionately, "I  have  been  true  to  theel  I  have 
been  true  to  thee,  or  this  hour  would  have 
killed  mel" 


t  t\ 


The  interest  of  this  romantic  story  may  per- 
haps be  heightened  by  the  device  of  represent- 
ing the  hero  as  able  to  "cure"  a  mentally  de- 
fective person,  but  this  is  a  device  that  can  no 
longer  be  used  by  novelists,  since  it  is  an  im- 
possibility and  cannot  happen  in  real  life. 
This  heroine  was  never  mentally  defective. 


llll 


Charles  Reade  —  Pur  Youbself  in  His  Place 
In  order  to  interest  the  public  in  the  pro- 
tection of  the  file-cutters  and  grinders  who 
suffered  so  much  from  lead  poisoning,  and  be- 


no 


THE  ALMOSTS 


•\^ 


II  ii 


cause  he  saw  how  many  valuable  lives  were 
sacrificed  and  how  many  good  workmen  had 
their  health  broken,  Charles  Reade  drew  his 
pen  "against  cowardly  assassination  and  so'*- 
did  tyranny." 

The  last  sentence  in  the  book  is  this : "  I  have 
taken  a  few  undeniable  truths,  out  of  many, 
and  have  laboured  to  make  my  readers  realize 
those  appalling  facts  of  the  day,  which  most 
men  know,  but  not  one  in  a  thousand  compre- 
hends, and  not  one  in  a  hundred  thousand 
realizes,  until  Fiction  —  which,  whatever  you 
may  have  been  told  to  the  contrary,  is  the 
highest,  widest,  noblest,  and  greatest  of  all  the 
arts  —  comes  to  his  aid,  studies,  penetrates, 
digests,  the  hard  facts  of  chronicles  and  blue- 
books,  and  makes  their  dry  bones  live." 

Improvements  and  safeguards  against  dis- 
ease, and  especially  against  lead  poisoning, 
which  Charles  Reade  describes  in  the  "Report 
of  Henry  Little,"  have  long  been  put  mto  oper- 
ation and  lead  poisoning  is  rapidly  becoming  a 
thing  of  the  past. 

Henry  Little  is,  of  course,  the  chief  character 
in  the  book  and  a  Good  Samaritan,  Dr.  Am- 
boyne,  induces  Henry  Little  to  devote  his  abil- 


if  If. 


PUT  YOURSELF  IN  HIS  PLACE  111 

ity  to  the  study  of  lead  poisoning  and  the 
preparation  of  this  ''Report/' 

Dr.  Amboyne's  favorite  phrase,  "Put  your- 
self in  his  place,"  gives  the  book  its  name. 

When  Henry  Little  visits  Dr.  Amboyne  at 
his  office  he  finds  him  in  his  study,  "teaching 
what  looked  a  boy  of  sixteen,  but  was  twenty- 
two,  to  read  monosyllables.  On  Little's  entrance 
the  pupil  retired  from  his  up-hill  work,  and 
glowered  with  vacillating  eyes.  The  lad  had  a 
fair  feminine  face,  with  three  ill  things  in  it;  a 
want,  a  wildness,  and  a  weakness.  To  be  sure 
Henry  saw  it  at  a  disadvantage;  for  vivid  in- 
telligence would  come  now  and  then  across  this 
mild,  wild,  vacant  face,  like  the  breeze  that 
sweeps  a  farmyard  pond." 

Henry  remarks  that  this  boy,  who  is  to  be 
his  fellow-worker,  "does  not  look  up  to  much," 
and  the  Doctor  replies,  "Never  mind;  he  can 
beat  the  town  at  one  or  two  things,  and  it  is  for 
these  we  will  use  him.  Some  call  him  an  idiot. 
The  expression  is  neat  and  vigorous,  but  not 
precise;  so  I  have  christened  him  the  Anomaly. 
Anomaly,  this  is  Mr.  Little;  go  and  shake  hands 
with  him,  and  admire  him." 

This  is  a  truth  that  is  far  too  often  passed 


Hi 


119 


THE  ALMOSTS 


I 


\i 

V 


i' 


JT  1 


'   1. 


over  in  work  with  the  feeble-minded  —  They 
can  often  "beat  the  town"  at  something.  If 
we  can  only  find  out  what  that  something  is 
and  set  them  at  it  then  our  problems  are 
largely  solved. 

Henry  asks  the  Anomaly,  "What  is  your 
real  name,  my  man?" 

"Saiy  Billy." 

"Oh,  then  I  am  afraid  you  can't  do  much  to 
help  me." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  can,  because  — " 

"Because  what?" 

*  Because  I  like  you." 
'Well,  that's  lucky,  anyway." 

*  Billy  can  catch  trout  when  nobody  else 
can,"  said  the  youngster,  turning  his  eyes 
proudly  up  to  Henry's. 

Henry  and  his  companion  then  proceed  to 
Cheetham's  works,  and  Henry  begins  his  in- 
vestigations among  the  dry  grinders  and  razor- 
grinders  and  others. 

"Up  to  this  moment  Silly  Billy  had  fully  jus- 
tified that  title.  He  had  stuck  to  Henry's  side 
like  a  dog,  but  with  no  more  interest  in  the  in- 
q^iiry  than  a  calf.  Indeed,  his  wandering  eye 
r^d  vacant  face  had  indicated  that  his  scanty 


««i 


t^^ 


«1 


*   1  ^ 


PITT  YOURSELF  IN  HIS  PLACE     US 

wits  were  wool-gathering  miles  from  the  place 
that  contained  his  body. 

'*But  as  soon  as  he  entered  the  saw-grinders* 
room,  his  features  lighted  up,  and  his  eye 
kindled.  He  now  took  up  a  commanding  posi- 
tion in  the  centre,  and  appeared  to  be  listening 
keenly.  And  he  had  not  listened  many  seconds 
before  he  cried  out,  'There's  the  bad  music  I 
there!  there!'  And  he  pointed  to  a  grindstone 
that  was  turning  and  doing  its  work  exactly 
like  the  others.  'Oh,  the  bad  music!'  cried 
Billy.  'It  is  out  of  tune.  It  says,  Murder  I 
murder!  Out  of  tunel* 

"Henry  thought  it  his  duty  to  inspect  the 
grindstone  so  vigorously  denotmced,  and,  nat- 
urally enough,  went  in  front  of  the  grinder. 
But  Billy  pulled  him  violently  to  the  side. 
'You  must  n't  stand  there,'  said  he.  'That  is 
the  way  they  fly  when  they  break,  and  kill  the 
poor  father,  and  then  the  mother  lets  down  her 
hair,  and  the  boy  goes  crazed.' 

"By  this  time  the  men  were  attracted  by 
the  Anomaly's  gestures  and  exclamations, 
and  several  left  their  work,  and  came  round 
him.  'What  is  amiss,  Billy?  a  flawed  stone, 
eh?  Which  is  it?' 


t 


'i 


I 

I 

I 


r  ! 


I-  i 


f* 


i! 


I  ■ 
»  i  - 


w 


i  i 


114 


THE  ALMOSTS 


"Here!  herel"  said  the  boy.  "This  is  the 
wheel  of  death.  Kill  it,  break  it,  smash  it, 
before  it  kills  another  father." 

The  story  of  Billy's  life  is  told  in  the  same 
chapter  —  that  his  father  persisted  in  using 
such  a  flawed  stone  against  warning  and  that 
Billy  saw  him  killed  by  the  stone  and  was 
afterwards  an  idiot.  The  nanative  states  that 
Billy  was  a  very  little  boy  at  the  time.  We  now 
know  that  even  such  a  terrible  tragedy  as  this 
cannot  be  the  cause  of  mental  defectiveness. 
This,  however,  is  the  only  error  in  Charles 
Reade's  study  of  a  mental  defective,  and  "Put 
yourself  in  His  Place"  was  published  nearly 
fifty  years  ago. 

Henry  now  makes  up  his  mind  to  take  up 
the  trade  of  .vood-carving  in  addition  to  his 
own,  and  in  this  Billy  is  a  valuable  assistant, 
under  the  name  of  Rowbotham. 

"Nor  was  Rowbotham  a  mere  nom  de  plume. 
It  was  the  real  name  of  Silly  Billy.  The  boy 
had  some  turn  for  carving,  but  was  quite  un- 
cultivated. Henry  took  him  into  his  employ, 
fed  him  and  made  free  with  his  name. 

"But  Henry  gave  his  apprentice,  Billy, 
instruction,  and  the  youth  began  to  show  an 


NOTRE  DAME  DE  PARIS 


llff 


aptitude,  which  contrasted  remarkably  with  his 
general  incapacity." 

Billy  appears  in  the  subsequent  story  very 
little,  though  occasional  allusions  to  him  occur. 
Thus,  when  Ransome,  the  Chief  of  Police,  is 
deceived  by  the  professional  convict  Shifty 
Dick,  he  emphasizes  his  disappointment  by 
saying  that  Silly  Billy,  who  smelt  the  faulty 
grindstone,  would  be  very  likely  to  be  more 
successful  in  police  work  than  Ransome  himself 
was. 

Those  who  are  most  successful  in  dealing 
with  the  feeble-minded  are  those  who  know 
that  each  one  *'can  beat  the  town  at  one  or 
two  things,"  and  who  are  clever  enough,  pa- 
tient enough,  and  kind  enough  to  find  out  in 
each  case  what  these  "one  or  two  things"  are 
and  to  supply  the  opportunity  and  the  infinite 
praise  and  encouragement  which  often  bring 
the  work  and  output  of  the  mental  defective, 
under  skilled  supervision,  almost  to  the  level 
of  the  normal. 


it' 


VicTOB  Hugo  —  Notre  Damb  db  Paris 
Quasimodo,  in  "Notre   Dame  de   Paris," 
has  been  thought  by  some  readers  to  be  men- 


116 


THE  ALM06TS 


:f 


J5 


I'fi 


11 

m 


tally  defective.  But  it  is  not  so.  In  the  very 
first  scene  where  he  is  introduced  and  appears 
as  "Pope  of  the  Fools,"  Victor  Hugo,  having 
first  described  his  sad  physical  defects,  says 
that  he  has  "with  all  this  deformity,  an  in- 
describable and  redoubtable  air  of  vigor,  agil- 
ity, and  courage."  Such  have  not  the  feeble- 
minded. Vigor,  agility,  and  courage,  in  that 
combination,  they  seldom  or  never  possess. 
Quasimodo's  power  of  self-control  and  inhibi- 
tion is  also  evident.  It  appears  in  the  second 
chapter,  when  he  meets  the  priest  who  takes 
away  from  him  his  scepter  and  his  brid 
sovereignty.  These  powers  are  not  possessed 
by  persons  who  are  mentally  defective. 

But  little  information  is  given  as  to  the 
cluldhood  and  youth  of  Quasimodo  until  we 
reach  the  first  chapter  of  the  Fourtli  Book, 
when  we  learn  that  sixteen  years  before  the 
time  of  the  story,  in  the  year  of  Our  Lord 
1467,  on  Quasimodo  Sunday,  a  poor  deformed 
child  was  presented  for  charity  on  the  wooden 
bed  in  the  Church  of  Notre  Dame  opposite 
the  great  image  of  St.  Christopher.  The  child 
appeared  to  be  about  four  years  old  at  that 
time.   The  parish  priest.   Monsieur  Claude 


.1 


8  ii 

11  f 


NOTRE  DABiE  DE  PARIS  117 

FroUo,  adopted  the  poor  creature,  put  it  in 
his  cassock  and  carried  it  off. 

"He  baptized  his  adopted  child,  and  gave 
him  the  name  of  Quasimodo,  either  because 
he  desired  thereby  to  mark  the  day  when  he 
had  found  him,  or  becaus*^  he  wished  to  desig- 
nate by  that  name  to  what  a  degree  the  poor 
little  creature  was  incomplete,  and  hardly 
sketched  out.  In  fact,  Quasimodo,  one-eyed, 
hunchbacked,  and  knock-kneed,  was  only  an 

•Almost.'" 

He  developed  and  grew  in  mind  and  body 
"  in  sympathy  with  the  cathedral." 

"By  dint  of  leaping,  climbing,  gamboling 
amid  the  abysses  of  the  gigantic  cathedral,  he 
had  become,  in  some  sort,  a  monkey  and  a 
goat,  like  the  Calabrian  child  who  swims  before 
he  walks,  and  plays  with  the  sea  while  still  a 

babe. 

"It  was  with  great  diflSculty,  and  by  dint  of 
great  patience  that  Claude  FroUo  had  suc- 
ceeded in  teaching  him  to  talk.  But  a  fatality 
was  attached  to  the  poor  foundling.  Bellringer 
of  Notre  Dame  at  the  age  of  fourteen,  -  new 
infirmity  had  come  to  complete  his  misfor- 
tunes: the  bells  had  broken  the  drums  of  his 


I 


m 


i\ 


118 


THE  ALMOSTS 


I 


i 


i 

i 

% 
< 

III '. 
I 


n 


ears;  he  had  become  deaf.  The  only  gate  which 
nature  had  left  wide  open  for  hiai  had  been 
abruptly  closed,  and  forever." 

The  beautiful  gypsy  who  shc'c^l  human!'-/ 
to  poor  Quasimodo  when  he  was  i^  chain.-*  on  lue 
pillory  by  detaching  a  gourd  from  her  girdle 
and  giving  him  to  drink  was  the  romance  of 
Quasimodo's  life. 

"A  big  tear  was  seen  to  fall,  and  roll  slowly 
down  that  deformed  visage  so  long  contracted 
with  despair.  It  was  the  first  in  all  probability 
the  man  had  ever  shed." 

He  had  already  tried  to  carry  off  the  gypsy 
and  he  was  able  in  the  end  to  rescue  her  and 
place  her  within  the  precincts  of  the  cathedral 
where  she  remained  safe  and  well  cared-for. 

The  tragedy  which  ends  the  story  is  well 
known,  but  there  is  r^uite  sufficient  evidence, 
for  example,  in  the  following  passage,  that 
whatever  truth  there  may  be  in  the  legend 
introduced  by  Victor  Hugo  into  his  story,  at 
least  Quasimodo  had  mental  powers  exceed- 
ing those  of  the  feeble-minded.  Is  it  possible 
that  there  ever  was  a  human  life  so  tragic, 
filled  with  misfortunes  so  multiplied  and  heart- 
rending? One  cauuot  bear  to  believe  it. 


!     ! 

lit 


NOTRE  DAME  DE  PARIS 


119 


The  passage  referred  to  is  that  which  de- 
scribes how  the  gypsy  has  been  placed  in 
safety  in  the  cathedral,  and  on  the  following 
morning,  on  awaking  at  the  same  time  with 
the  sun,  beheld  at  that  window  an  object  which 
frightened  her,  the  unfortunate  face  of  Quas- 
imodo. 

"She  involuntarily  closed  her  eyes  again, 
but  in  vain;  she  fancied  that  she  still  saw 
through  the  rosy  lids  that  gnome's  mask. 

"Then,  while  she  still  kept  her  eyes  closed, 
she  heard  a  rough  voice  saying,  very  gently: 

"Be  not  afraid.  I  am  your  friend.  I  came  to 
watch  you  sleep.  It  does  not  hurt  you  if  I 
come  to  see  you  sleep,  does  it?  What  difference 
does  it  make  to  you  if  I  am  here  when  your 
eyes  are  closed  I  Now  I  am  going.  Stay,  I  have 
placed  myself  behind  the  wall.  You  can  open 
your  eyes  again." 

"There  was  something  more  plaintive  than 
these  words,  and  that  was  the  accent  in  which 
they  were  uttered.  The  gypsy,  much  touch  I 
opened  her  eyes.  He  was,  in  fact,  no  longer  >t 
the  window.  She  approached  the  opening,  and 
beheld  the  poor  hunchback  crouching  in  an 
angle  of  the  wall,  in  a  sad  and  resigned  atti- 


m 


• 


\ 


*l 


k 

fill  ^ 


Ill's 


fl:l 


120  THE  ALMOSTS 

tude.  She  made  an  effort  to  surmount  the  re- 
pugnance with  which  he  inspired  her.  *Come,* 
she  said  to  hun  gently.  From  the  movement 
of  the  gypsy's  Ups  Quasimodo  thought  that 
she  was  driving  hun  away;  then  he  arose  and 
retired  limpmg,  slowly,  with  drooping  head, 
without  even  daring  to  raise  to  the  young  girl 
his  gaze  full  of  despair.  *Do  come,'  she  cried, 
but  he  continued  to  retreat.  Then  she  darted 
from  her  cell,  ran  to  him,  and  grasped  his 

arm. 

"He  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence.  *So 
you  were  telling  me  to  retimi?' 

"She  made  an  aflSrmative  sign  of  the  head, 
and  said,  'Yes.' 

"Never  have  I  seen  my  ugliness  as  at  the 
present  moment.  When  I  compare  myself  to 
you,  I  feel  a  very  great  pity  for  myself,  poor 
unhappy  monster  that  I  ami  Tell  me,  I  must 
look  to  you  like  a  beast." 

"Well!"  she  interposed  with  a  smile,  "tell 
me  why  you  saved  me." 

"He  watched  her  attentively  while  she  was 

speaking. 

"I  understand,"  he  replied.  "You  ask  me 
why  I  saved  you.  You  have  forgotten  a  wretch 


111 


NOTRE  DAME  DE  PARIS  121 

who  tried  to  abduct  you  one  night,  a  wretch 
to  whom  you  rendered  succour  on  the  follow- 
ing day  on  their  infamous  pillory.  A  drop  of 
water  and  a  little  pity  —  that  is  more  than  I 
can  repay  with  my  life.  You  have  forgotten 
that  wretch,  but  he  remembers  it." 

"She  listened  to  him  with  profound  tender- 
ness. A  tear  swam  in  the  eye  of  the  belbinger, 
but  did  not  fall.  He  seemed  to  make  it  a  sort 
of  point  of  honor  to  retain  it. 

"Listen,"  he  resumed,  when  he  was  no 
longer  afraid  that  a  tear  would  escape;  "our 
towers  here  are  very  high,  a  man  who  should 
fall  from  them  would  be  dead  before  touching 
tb  lavement;  when  it  shall  please  you  to  have 
me  fall,  you  will  not  have  to  utter  even  a 
word,  a  glance  will  suflBce." 

"Then  he  arose.  Unhappy  as  was  the  Bo- 
hemian, this  eccentric  being  still  aroused  some 
compassion  in  her.  She  made  him  a  sign  to 

remain. 

"No,  no,"  said  he;  "I  must  not  remain  too 
long.  I  am  not  at  my  ease.  It  is  out  of  pity  that 
you  do  not  turn  away  your  eyes.  I  shall  go  to 
some  place  where  I  can  see  you  without  your 
seeing  me;  it  will  be  better  so." 


I'M 


! 


f 
It 


122  THE  ALMOSTS 

"He  drew  from  his  pocket  a  little  metal 
whistle. 

"Here,"  said  he,  "when  you  have  need  of 
me,  when  you  wish  me  to  come,  when  you  will 
not  feel  too  much  horror  at  the  sight  of  me, 
use  this  whistle.  I  can  hear  this  sound." 

"He  laid  the  whistle  on  the  floor  and  fled." 


t 
i 


i  i. 


lit 

III 


Geobgb  MacDonald  —  Malcolm 
In  "Malcolm,"  and  again  in  "Sir  Gibbie," 
George  MacDonald  touches  upon  some  of  the 
problems  connected  with  the  Ufe  and  care  of 
mentally  defective  persons. 

The  hero  of  George  MacDonald's  "Mal- 
cohn  "  is  an  ahnost  impossibly  wonderful  and 
attractive  person. 

"The  Mad  Laird,"  Mr.  Stewart,  first  ap- 
pears in  the  third  chapter  when  Mistress 
Catanach,  a  very  heavy  female  villain,  is  look- 
ing out  to  sea. 

"While  she  thus  stood,  a  strange  figure  drew 
near,  approaching  her  with  step  almost  as 
noiseless  as  that  with  which  she  had  herself 
made  her  escape  from  Miss  Horn's  house. 
At  a  few  yards'  distance  from  her  it  stood,  and 
gazed  up  at  her  countenance  as  intently  as  she 


iliJi 


|;i    i 


MALCOLM 


123 


seemed  to  be  gazing  on  the  sea.  It  was  a  man 
of  dwarfish  height  and  uncertain  age,  with  a 
huge  hump  upon  his  back,  features  of  great 
refinement,  a  long  thin  beard,  and  a  forehead 
imraturally  large,  over  eyes  which,  although 
of  a  pale  blue,  mingled  with  a  certain  mottled 
milky  gleam,  had  a  pathetic,  dog-like  expres- 
sion. Decently  dressed  in  black,  he  stood  with 
his  hands  in  the  pockets  of  his  trousers, 
gazing  immovably  in  Mrs.  Catanach's  face." 

Mrs.  Catanach  distresses  the  laird  by  her 
vulgarity,  and  "the  hunchback  uttered  a 
shriek  of  dismay,  and  turned  and  fled;  and  as 
he  turned,  long,  thin,  white  hands  flashed  out 
of  his  pockets,  pressed  against  his  ears,  and 
mtertwined  their  fingers  at  the  back  of  his 
neck.  With  a  marvellous  swiftness  he  shot 
down  the  steep  descent  towards  the  shore." 

"The  style  she  had  given  the  hunchback 
was  no  nickname.  Stephen  Stewart  was  laird 
of  the  small  property  and  ancient  house  of 
Kirkbyres,  of  which  his  mother  managed  the 
affairs,  —  hardly  fcrr  her  son,  seeing  that,  be- 
yond his  clothes,  and  five  pounds  a  year  of 
pocket-money,  he  derived  no  personal  advan- 
tage from  his  possessions.  He  never  went  near 


h 


W 


.  1 


if' 


I!      1^ 


i;i 


M 


M 


124  THE  ALMOSTS 

his  own  house,  for,  from  some  unknown  reason, 
plentifully  aimed  at  in  the  dark  by  the  neigh- 
bours, he  had  such  a  dislike  to  his  mother  that 
he  could  not  bear  to  hear  the  name  of  mother, 
or  even  the  slightest  allusion  to  the  relation- 
ship. 

"Some  said  he  was  a  fool;  others  a  madman; 
some  both;  none,  however,  said  he  was  a 
rogue;  and  all  would  have  been  willing  to 
allow  that  whatever  it  might  be  that  caused 
the  difference  between  him  and  other  men, 
throughout  the  disturbing  element  blew  ever 
and  anon  the  air  of  a  sweet  humanity." 

We  meet  the  poor  laird  again  in  the  seventh 
chapter,  in  which  he  is  at  the  school,  and  very 
kindly    treated    by    the    schoohnaster,    Mr. 

Graham. 

But  nothing  calms  the  laird;  he  repeats  in 
distress,  '*I  dinna  ken  whaur  I  cam  frae." 

His  mother,  a  beautiful  but  wicked  and 
hard-hearted  woman,  is  determined  to  shut 
him  up  in  an  asylum,  and  endeavors  to  deceive 
Malcohn  into  helping  her.  Malcohn  acknowl- 
edges that  the  laird's  mind  is  weak,  but  says, 
"His  min',  though  cawpable  o'  a  hantle  mair 
nor  a  body  wad  think  'at  didna  ken  him  sae 


i.ii 


m^ 


MALCOLM 


125 


weel  as  I  du,  is  certainly  weyk  —  though  may- 
be the  weykness  lies  mair  i'  the  tongue  than 
i'  the  brain  o'  *im  after  a'  — " 

His  mother  speaks  of  Stephen  Stewart  as 
an  idiot,  but  Lady  Florimel  refers  to  him  as  a 

lunatic. 

.    It  must  be  remembered  that  the  original 

meaning  of  limatic  included  that  of  "idiot." 

When  the  poor  fellow  was  chased  from  his 
cave  he  took  refuge  in  a  garret.  We  have  some 
description  of  his  life  there. 

"In  blessed  compensation  for  much  of  the 
misery  of  his  lot,  the  laird  was  gifted  with  an 
inborn  delicate  delight  in  nature  and  her  mm- 
istrations  such  as  few  poets  even  possess;  and 
this  faculty  was  supplemented  with  a  physical 
hardiness  which,  in  association  with  his  weak- 
ness and  liability  to  certam  appalling  attacks, 
was  truly  astonishing.  Though  a  rough  hand 
might  cause  him  exquisite  pam,  he  could  sleep 
soundly  on  the  hardest  floor;  a  hot  room 
would  induce  a  fit,  but  he  would  lie  under  an 
open  wmdow  in  the  sharpest  night  without 
injury;  a  rude  word  would  make  him  droop 
like  a  flower  in  frost,  but  he  might  go  all  day 
wet  to  the  skin  without  taking  cold.  To  all 


1 1 


i 

'  !  i 


"     i  * 

I  i' 


I'll 


In 


126  THE  ALMOSTS 

kinds  of  what  are  called  hardships,  he  had  read- 
ily become  inured,  without  which  it  would 
have  been  impossible  for  his  love  of  nature  to 
receive  such  a  full  development.  For  hence  he 
grew  capable  of  communion  with  her  in  all  her 
moods,  undisabled  either  by  the  deadening 
effects  of  present,  or  the  aversion  consequent 
on  past  suffering.  All  the  range  of  earth's  shows, 
from  the  grandeurs  of  sunrise  or  thunderstorm 
down  to  the  soft  unfolding  of  a  daisy  or  the 
babbling  birth  of  a  spring,  was  to  him  an  open 
book.  It  is  true,  the  delight  of  these  things 
was  constantly  mingled  with,  not  unfrequently 
broken,  indeed,  by  the  troublous  question  of 
his  origin;  but  it  was  only  on  occasions  of 
jarring  contact  with  his  fellows,  that  it  was 
accompanied  by  such  agonies  as  my  story  has 
represented.  Sometimes  he  would  sit  on  a 
rock,  murmuring  the  words  over  and  over, 
and  dabbling  his  bare  feet,  small  and  deli- 
cately formed,  in  the  translucent  green  of  a 
tide-abandoned  pool.  But  oftener  in  a  soft 
dusky  wind,  he  might  have  been  heard  uttering 
them  gently  and  coaxingly,  as  if  he  would  wile 
from  the  evening  zephyr  the  secret  of  his  birth 
—  which  surely  mother  Nature  must  know. 


Ik   % 


MALCOLM 


itr 


The  confinement  of  such  a  man  would  have 
been  in  the  highest  degree  cruel,  and  must 
speedily  have  ended  in  death.  Even  Malcohn 
did  not  know  how  absolute  was  the  laird's 
need,  not  simply  of  air  and  freedom,  but  of  all 
things  accompanying  the  enjoyment  of  them. 

"There  was  nothing,  then,  of  insanity  in  his 
preference  of  a  windowless  bedroom;  it  was 
that  airs  and  odours,  birds  and  sunlight  —  the 
sound  of  flapping  wing,  of  breaking  wave,  and 
quivering  throat  — might  be  free  to  enter. 
Cool,  clean  air  he  must  breathe,  or  die;  with 
that,  the  partial  confinement  to  which  he  was 
subjected  was  not  unendurable.  .  . . 

"He  not  only  loved  but  understood  all  the 
creatures,  divining  by  an  operation  in  which 
neither  the  sympathy  nor  the  watchfuhiess 
was  the  less  perfect  that  both  were  but  half 
conscious,  the  emotions  and  desires  informing 
their  inarticulate  language.  Many  of  them 
seemed  to  know  him  in  return  —  either  recog- 
nizing his  person,  and  from  experience  deduc- 
ing safety,  or  reading  his  countenance  suffi- 
ciently to  perceive  that  his  mterest  prognosti- 
cated no  injury.  The  maternal  bird  would 
keep  her  seat  in  her  nursery,  and  give  back  hi'. 


»  I  --I 


It 


{ 


i 

i'\\ 


:  r  f 


Ik     h  t 


128  THE  ALMOSTS 

gaze;  the  rabbit  peeping  from  his  burrow 
would  not  even  draw  in  his  head  at  his  ap- 
proach. ... 

"He  could  make  a  bird's  nest,  of  any  sort 
common  in  the  neighbourhood,  so  as  to  deceive 
the  most  cunning  of  the  nest-harrying  youths 
of  the  parish. 

"Hardly  was  he  an  hour  in  his  new  abode 
ere  the  sparrows  and  robins  began  to  visit  hhn. 
Even  strange  birds  of  passage  flying  in  at  his 
hospitable  wmdow,  would  espy  him  unscared, 
and  sometimes  partake  of  the  food  he  had 
always  at  hand  to  offer  them.  He  relied  indeed, 
for  the  pleasures  of  social  intercourse  with  the 
animal  world,  on  stray  visits  alone;  he  had  no 
pets  —  dog  nor  cat  nor  bird;  for  his  wandering 
and  danger-haunted  life  did  not  allow  such 
companionship." 

There  is  evidently  in  the  mind  of  the  author 
an  intelligent  preference  for  the  open-air  treat- 
ment of  patients  suffering  from  mental  or 
bodily  disease. 

There  are  several  references  in  the  end  of  the 
story  to  the  epileptic  seizures  from  which  the 
poor  laird  suffered.  He  was  frightened,  and 
left  his  garret,  wandered  away,  and  at  last 


Sm  GIBBIE 


1«9 


wandered  b«ck  to  his  unkind  mother.  The  end 
of  his  poor  troubled  life  comes  soon  after. 
He  suffers  from  a  terrible  convulsion,  but  re- 
gains consciousness  before  he  dies,  and  smiles, 
apparently  seeing  a  beautiful  vision  just  before 
the  end  comes. 

Spinal  tuberculosis  was  probably  little  un- 
derstood when  the  book  was  written,  and  the 
author  can  hardly  be  expected  to  distinguish 
clearly  the  three  distinct  conditions  of  idiocy, 
insanity,  and  epilepsy.  Yet  there  is  a  good 
deal  of  truth  in  the  picture  given.  It  is  well 
known  that  mental  deterioration  occurs  in 
many  epileptics;  and  it  is  natural  and  right 
for  us  all,  mentally  strong  and  weak  alike,  to 
crave  as  much  freedom  and  open  air  as  we  can 
have,  consistent  with  the  safety  and  comfort 
of  ourselves  and  others. 

Farm  colony  life  for  mentally  defective 
persons  is  mtended  to  give  them  the  maximum 
of  freedom  and  development. 

Sir  Gibbid 
This  story  is  a  wonderful  study  of  a  boy 
who  was  supposed  by  some  to  be  mentally 
defective,  but  was  really  both  singularly  gifted 


M 


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ISO  THE  ALMOSTS 

and  attractive.  In  chapter  xi  we  read  of  his 
"bewitching  smiles,"  and  in  the  first  words  of 
the  story  we  learn  of  his  care  and  protection 
of  his  father,  a  chronic  Jcoholic,  — a  care 
that  was  not  only  long-lasting  but  wise  and 
ingenious  and  more  purposeful  than  is  possible 
with  the  mentally  defective.  Altogether  the 
impression  Sir  Gibbie  makes  on  the  mind  of 
the  reader  is  the  impression  made  by  a  normal 
character,  though  the  poor  fellow  is  unable  to 
speak  probably  because  he  was  deaf  and  there 
was   no   one   to   teach    him   lip-reading  and 
speech.    The   power   of   speech   would   have 
changed  the  whole  life  of  Sir  Gibbie,  loving, 
innocent,  gifted  —  and  yet  outside  the  pale, 
and  sadly  misunderstood,  because  he  cannot 
speak.  Yet  the  wmder  has  the  confident  feeling 
that  Sir  Gibbie's  mind  is  aU  right,  so  that  it 
comes  as  a  shock  when  near  the  middle  of  the 
book  the  brutal  gamekeeper,  Angus  MacPholp, 
calls  Sir  Gibbie  an  idiot  in  the  soliloquy  he 
holds  with  himself  as  he  lies  on  the  floor  of 
Robert  Grant  s  cottage,  bound  hand  and  foot 
for  his  miadeeds. 

The  story  goes  on  to  unfold  a  character  of 
uucomman  sagacity  and  sweetness.  Sir  Gibbie 


J 


SIB  GIBBIE 


181 


begins  to  pick  out  tunes  on  his  "Pan's  pipes" 
and  discovers  that  he  can  produce  tones,  de- 
lighted too  to  find  that  the  noises  he  makes  are 
recognized  by  others  as  song,  especially  by 
Ginevra,  the  heroine  of  the  tale,  who  hears  the 
sound  of   his  pipes,  and  is  rescued  by  the 
"Beast-Boy,"  as  the  country  folk  call  him, 
when  she  is  lost  on  the  mountain.  The  narra- 
tive reaches,  perhaps,  its  highest  point  in  the 
account  of  the  great  floods,  and  the  remarkable 
rescue  by  Sir  Gibbie  not  only  of  Ginevra,  but 
(a  far  more  ingenious  and  diflicult  rescue)  of 
his  brutal  tormentor,  Angus  MacPholp.  Any 
possible  doubts  which  the  reader  might  have 
had  as  to  the  mental  powers  of  the  hero  vanish, 
when  he  exhibits  a  strength  of  will  and  initia- 
tive rare  indeed,  and,  with  no  one  to  assist  him, 
but  with  the  powers  of  nature  and  human  na- 
ture against  him,  rescues  "A  friend,  a  foe  and 
a  beast  of  the  earth."  For  the  remarkable 
and  at  the  same  time  almost  incredible  inci- 
dents of  the  flood,  the  author  has  availed  him- 
-tlf  of  Sir  Thomas  Dick  Lauder's  account 
of  the  historical  Morayshire  floods  in  1829. 

There  is  never  a  Scotch  story  without  a 
clergj-man,  and  in  chapter  xxxvii  the  Rev- 


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132  THE  ALMOSTS 

erend  Clement  Sclater,  who  had  made  some 
inquiries  as  to  the  kin  of  Sir  Gibbie's  mother 
and  fomid  them  wealthy  and  hard-hearted, 
sets  down  his  breakfast  cup  of  coflEee  untasted 
and  rushes  from  the  room  to  take  action  when 
he  reads  in  the  mommg  paper  of  the  sudden 
death,  intestate,  of  Sir  Gibbie's  uncle,  leaving 
an  estate  of  two  hundred  thousand  pounds. 
However,  before  the  calamity  of  riches  over- 
takes Sir  Gibbie,  he  haa  a  few  days  among  the 
mountains  with  the  heroine,  in  conditions 
which  occur  in  novels  but  not  often  elsewhere. 
She  finds  him  the  gentlest,  kindest,  and  most 
interesting  of  companions.  In  daring,  swiftness, 
and  certainty  when  diving,  swimming,  and 
climbing,  he  rivals  the  bird  of  the  air  and  the 
fish  of  the  sea.  He  is  able  also  to  explain  to  her 
the  marvels  of  mountain,   sky,  and  water. 
This  is  a  great  contrast  to  the  poor  motor  and 
muscular  powers,  the  lack  of  coordmation  and 
the  inapt  and  ungraceful  movements  of  the 
mental  defective,  who  possesses  neither  the 
powers  of  the  body  nor  the  treasures  of  the 
mind  which  made  Sir  Gibbie  so  delightful  and 
interesting  a  companion. 
The  Reverend  Mr.  Sclater  now  appears  on 


V 

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I  ; 

14  1^ 


1^ 


Sm  GIBBIE 


183 


the  scene  and  captures  Gibbie  for  the  great 
world,  which  Gibbie  finds  not  so  much  to  his 
liking  as  the  mountain  and  the  moor.  Yet  his 
smiles  made  a  way  for  him.  "Unhappily  for 
me  there  is  no  way  of  giving  the  delicate  diflfer- 
ences  of  those  smiles.  Much  of  what  Gibbie 
perhaps  felt  the  more  that  he  could  not  say  it, 
had  got  into  the  place  where  the  smiles  were 
made,  and,  like  a  variety  of  pollens,  had  im- 
pregnated them  with  all  shades  and  colours 
of  expression,  whose  varied  significance  those 
who  had  known  him  longest,  dividing  and  dis- 
tinguishing, had  gone  far  towards  being  able 
to  interpret.  In  that  which  now  shone  on  Mrs. 
Sclater,  there  was  something,  she  said  next 
day  to  a  friend,  which  no  woman  could  resist, 
and  which  must  come  of  his  gentle  blood.'* 
Such  smiles  are  not  seen  in  the  mentally  de- 
fective, though  to  those  who  take  an  interest 
in  them  and  are  well  inclined  towards  them, 
the  smile  which  comes  to  answer  kindness  and 
help  has  an  attraction  and  an  appeal  of  its  own. 
Another  incident  accompanying  Sir  Gibbie's 
plunge  into  this  new  world  shows  at  once  a 
lack  of  self-regard  and  care  for  clothes,  a  sen- 
sitive consciousness  of  bodily  discomfort,  and 


I'  ■* 


Hit 


ii;| 


I! 


134  THE  ALMOSTS 

an  originaUtyand  vigor  of  resolution  to  which 

mental  defectives  are  strangers: 

"Gibbie  could  endure  cold  or  wet  or  hunger, 
and  sing  like  a  mavis;  he  had  borne  pain  upon 
occasion  with  at  least  complete  submission; 
but  the  tight  arm-holes  of  his  jacket  could 
hardly  be  such  a  degree  of  Providence  as  it  was 
rebeUion  to  interfere  with;  and  therefore  I  do 
not  relate  what  follows,  as  a  pure  outcome  of 
that  benevolence  in  him  which  was  yet  equal 
to  the  sacrifice  of  the  best-fitting  of  garments. 
As  they  walked  along  Pearl  Street,  the  hand- 
somest street  of  the  city,  he  darted  suddeidy 
from  Mrs.  Sclater's  side,  and  crossed  to  the 
opposite  pavement.  She  stood  and  looked  after 
him  wondering,  hitherto  he  had  broken  out  m 
no  vagariesl  As  he  ran,  worse  and  worsel  he 
began  tugging  at  his  jacket,  and  had  just  sue 
ceeded  m  getting  it  off  as  he  arrived  at  the 
other  side,  in  tune  to  stop  a  lad  o*  about  his 
own  size,  who  was  walking  bai  -  M)ted  and 
in  his  shirt-sleeves  -  if  sUH  or  sUevea  be  a 
term  applicable  to  anything  visible  upon  him. 
With  somethmg  of  the  air  of  the  tailor  who  had 
just  been  waiting  upon  himself,  but  with  as 
much  kindness  and  attention  as  if  the  boy  had 


■rli 

if 


Sm  GIBBIE 


185 


been  Donal  Grant  instead  of  a  stranger,  he 
held  the  jacket  for  him  to  put  on.  The  lad 
lost  no  time  in  obeying,  gave  him  one  look  and 
nod  of  gratitude,  and  ran  down  a  flight  of  steps 
to  a  street  below,  never  doubting  his  benefactor 
an  idiot,  and  dreading  some  one  to  whom  he 
belonged  would  be  after  him  presently  to 
reclaim  the  gift.  Mrs.  Sclater  saw  the  proceed- 
ing with  some  amusement  and  a  little  fore- 
boding. She  did  not  mourn  the  fate  of  the 
jacket;  had  it  been  the  one  she  had  just 
ordered,  or  anything  like  it,  the  loss  would 
have  been  to  her  not  insignificant;  but  was  the 
boy  altogether  in  his  right  mind?  She  in  her 
black  satin  on  the  opposite  pavement,  and  the 
lad  scudding  down  the  stair  in  the  jacket,  were 
of  similar  mind  concerning  the  boy,  who,  in 
shirt-sleeves  indubitable,  now  came  bounding 
back  across  the  wide  street.  He  took  his  place 
by  her  side  as  if  nothing  had  happened,  only 
that  he  went  along  swinging  his  arms  as  if  he 
had  just  been  delivered  from  manacles.  Having 
for  so  many  years  roamed  the  streets  with 
scarcely  any  clothes  at  all,  he  had  no  idea  of 
looking  peculiar,  and  thought  nothing  more  of 
the  matter." 


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136  THE  ALMOSTS 

Then  did  Mr.  Sdater  teach  him  Latin  and 
"the  minister  began  to  think  it  might  be  of 
advantage  to  learning  in  general,  if  at  least 
half  the  boys  and  girls  at  school,  and  three 
parts  of  every  Sunday  congregation,  were  as 
dumb  as  Sir  Gilbert  Galbraith.  When  at  length 
he  set  him  to  Greek,  he  was  astonished  at  the 
avidity  with  which  he  learned  it."  This  wUl 
help  to  convince  the  reader  that  Gibbie  was 
not  mentally  defect'  /e,  and  the  object  of 
George  MacDonald  is  now  probably  suffi- 
ciently attained  to  show  how  mistaken  people 
may  be  in  the  judgment  of  the  mental  caliber 
of  others.  Yet  the  mental  reactions  of  Gibbie 
in  the  rephn  of  spintual  conduct  are  perhaps 
still    more   w-th    study:    "Middlmg    good 
people  are  s.     Ked  at  the  wickedness  of  the 
wicked;  Gibbie,  who  knew  both  so  well,  and 
what  ought  to  be  expected,  was  shocked  only 
ct  the  wickedness  of  the  righteous." 

The  romance  of  the  story  comes  to  a  charm- 
ing conclusion,  as  is  the  wont  of  the  romances 
of  George  MacDonald,  which  always  have  a 
glory  and  sweetness  of  their  own.  But  the  rest 
of  the  life  of  Sir  Gibbie,  and  of  how  clever  he 
was  in  mathematics  (diagnostic  of  mt  being 


|<  1. 

3-' 


BROTHER  JACOB  137 

feeble-minded,  again!)  and  of  the  woman  who 
loved  him,  must  be  read  in  the  chronicles  of 
George  MacDonald. 

Geobge  £uot — Bbothib  Jacob 
In  "Brother  Jacob,"  one  of  her  short 
stories,  George  Eliot  tells  the  disagreeable  tale 
of  David  Faux  who  is  a  Uriah  Heep  sort  of 
person,  despicable  alike  in  body  and  soul. 
He  has  an  ambition  to  travel  and,  being  em- 
ployed by  a  confectioner,  takes  from  Ids  mas- 
ter's till  the  money  he  wants  for  this  purpose. 
It  is  not  enough,  so  he  steals  some  more  from 
his  own  mother  and  buries  his  ill-gotten  gains 
in  the  earth.  Brother  Jacob,  the  idiot,  sees 
him  doing  this  on  a  Sunday  afternoon,  "the 
third  Simday  in  Lent."  After  much  trouble, 
David  pacifies  Jacob,  and  finally  puts  his  plan 
of  running  away  to  travel  into  execution.  Six 
years  after,  he  comes  back  under  the  assumed 
name  of  Edward  Freely  and  is  just  on  the  eve 
of  making  his  way  and  arranging  a  marriage 
with  Miss  Penelope  Palfrey  when  his  plans  are 
spoiled  by  Brother  Jacob's  recognizing  him. 
It  b  "an  admirable  instance  of  the  unexpected 
forms  in  which  the  great  Nemesis  hides  herself." 


I. 


ill. 


IT 


138  THE  ALM0ST9. 

Thi8  rtory  is  remarkable  for  the  accurate 
knowledge  displayed  by  the  author.  George 
EUot  understood  the  situation  when  she  said. 
"David,  not  havmg  studied  the  psychology  of 
idiots,  was  not  aware  that  they  are  not  to  be 
wrought  upon  by  unaginative  fears." 

Joseph  Conbad  —  The  Idiots 
A  short  story  of  Joseph  Conrad's  caUed 
"The  Idiots"  occurs  in  a  volume  of  short 
stories  under  the  general  title  of  "Tales  of 
Unrest."  It  is  a  French  tale  in  which  a  man 
and  his  wife,  apparently  normal,  meet  the 
ahnost  incredible  tragedy  of  finding  that  aU 
their  chUdren  are  idiotic.  The  anguish  of  tiie 
situation  is  powerfully  depicted,  but  it  will  at 
once  occur  to  any  intelligent  person  to  doubt 
if  two  normal  persons,  such  as  the  man  and 
his  wife  presumably  are,  could  have  idiotic 
children   only.  No  such  case   seems  to  be 
recorded.  It  is  a  tale  of  unrest.  Let  no  one  be 
disturbed  by  it. 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson  —  Olalla 
A  volume  of  short,  stories  by  Robert  Louis 
Stevenson  called  "The  Merry  Men"  contains 


THE  WRECKER 


180 


a  tale  called  "Olalla."  The  scene  is  laid  in 
Spain  and  the  narrator  is  a  wounded  officer 
whose  doctor  has  sent  him  to  the  house  of  some 
Spanish  grandees  to  complete  his  convales- 
cence. The  boy  Felipe,  who  drives  hun  to  the 
castle  of  the  grandees,  seems  to  be  an  imbecile. 
He  shows  marked  cruelty  to  a  squirrel,  and 
displays  other  marks  of  mental  defect,  but  he 
possesses  marvelous  agility,  which  is  not  usual 
in  an  imbecile.  Some  one  in  the  castle  is  ap- 
parently subject  to  attacks  of  insanity.  The 
officer  at  last  sees  Olalla,  falls  hopelessly  in 
love  with  her,  but  finally  yields  to  her  en- 
treaties that  he  should  leave  the  place  at  once, 
and  forever. 

ThbWreceeb 
Robert  Louis  Stevenson  draws  the  picture  of 
Tommy  Hadden,  a  high-grade  mental  defec- 
tive, in  "The  Wrecker."  When  Mr.  Carthew, 
the  "Remittance  Man,"  comes  back  to  Sydney 
after  doing  "Homeric  labour  in  Homeric  cir- 
cumstance," Tommy  recognizes  him  and 
hails  him  in  a  loud  voice,  and  Mr.  Carthew, 
"turning  about,  found  himself  face  to  face 
with  a  handsome  sunburnt  youth,  somewhat 


If.. 

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140 


THE  ALMOSTS 


fatted,  arrayed  in  the  finest  of  fine  raiment, 
and  sporting  about  a  sovereign's  worth  of 
flowers  la  his  buttonhole.  . . . 

"Tom  Hadden  (known  to  the  bulk  of 
Sydney  folk  as  Tommy)  was  heir  to  a  con- 
siderable property,  which  a  prophetic  father 
had  placed  in  the  hands  of  rigorous  trustees. 
The  income  supported  Mr.  Hadden  in  splen- 
dour for  about  three  months  out  of  twelve;  the 
rest  of  the  year  he  passed  in  retreat  among  the 
blands.  He  was  now  about  a  week  returned 
from  his  eclipse,  pervading  Sydney  in  hansom 
cabs  and  airing  the  first  bloom  of  six  new  suits 
of  clothes; . .  .** 

At  the  moment.  Tommy  is  engrossed  in  a 
grand  scheme  for  island  trade.  He  and  Mr. 
Carthew  go  to  consult  Captain  Bostock,  who 
knows  all  that  is  to  be  known  on  that  sub- 
ject. 

"Doubtless  the  Captain  was  a  mine  of 
counsel,  but  opportunity  was  denied  him.  He 
could  not  venture  on  a  statement,  he  was 
scarce  allowed  to  finish  a  phrase,  before  Had- 
den swept  him  from  the  field  with  a  volley  of 
protest  and  correction." 

"You  know  a  sight,  don't  you?"  remarked 


THE  WRECKER 


141 


that  gentleman,  bitterly,  when  Tommy 
paused. 

"I  know  a  sight  more  than  you,  if  that's 
what  you  mean,"  retorted  Tom.  "It  stands  to 
reason  I  do.  You're  not  a  man  of  any  educa- 
tion; you've  been  all  your  life  at  sea  or  in  the 
islands;  you  don't  suppose  you  can  give  points 
to  a  man  like  me?" 

"Here's  your  health,  Tommy,"  returned 
Bostock.  "You'll  make  an  A-1  bake  in  the 
New  Hebrides." 

"That's  what  I  caU  talking,"  cried  Tom, 
not  perhaps  grasping  the  spirit  of  this  doubtful 
compliment.  "Now  you  give  me  your  atten- 
tion. We  have  the  money  and  the  enterprise, 
and  I  have  the  experience;  what  we  want  is 
a  cheap,  smart  boat,  a  good  Captain  and  an 
introduction  to  some  house  that  will  give  us 
credit  for  the  trade." 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you,"  said  Captain  Bostock. 
"I  seen  men  like  you  baked  and  eaten,  and 
complained  of  afterwards.  Some  was  tough, 
and  some  had  n't  no  flaviour,"  he  added 
grimly. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  cried  Tom. 

"I  mean  I  don't  care,"  said  Bostock.  "It 


f  fl! 


H  1 

V.    I- 


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I 


■*  ■ 


;  f- 


149  THE  ALMOSTS 

ain't  any  of  my  interests.  I  have  n't  underwrote 
your  life.  Only  I'm  blest  if  Vm  not  sorry  for 
the  cannibal  as  tries  to  eat  your  head.  And 
what  I  recommend  is  a  cheap,  smart  coffin  and 
a  good  undertaker.  See  if  you  can  find  a  house 
to  give  you  credit  for  a  coffinl  Look  at  your 
friend  there;  he's  got  some  sense;  he's  laugh- 
ing at  you  so  as  he  can't  stand.' 

Drawn  to  the  Ufe.  The  voluble  high-grade 
mental  defective,  "wiser  than  seven  men  who 
can  render  a  reason,"  is  an  exasperatmg  being. 
Sometimes  he  or  she  would  almost  deceive 
the  very  elect.  Is  it  any  wonder  they  impwe 
on  many  persons,  includmg  even  some  magis- 
trates and  judges? 

Mrs.  Robert  Louis  Stevenson,  m  her  re- 
cently published  book.  "The  Cruise  of  the 
Janet  Nichol."  gives  some  additional  particu- 
lars about  "Tommy  Hadden."  His  real  name 
was  John,  not  Tom.  and  he  was  known  on 
board  the  "Janet  Nichol"  as  "Tm  Jack. 
"Tin"  being  the  South  Sea  equivalent  for 

"\Iiater." 

Tin  Jack  goes  on  the  cruise  armed  with  a 
false  face,  an  enormous  false  nose,  and  other 
disguises,  which  he  used  to  great  effect  to 


THE  WRECKER 


fl48 


frighten  the  natives.  He  forgets  things  very 
often,  and  on  one  occasion  he  forgets  about 
Mrs.  Stevenson's  return  to  the  ship,  and  she  is 
left  in  a  sad  plight  for  two  or  three  hours  be- 
cause of  this. 

Mrs.  Stevenson  thus  finishes  the  tale  of  his 
life. 

"Tin  Jack  came  to  a  sad  end.  He  possessed 
a  certain  fixed  income,  which,  however,  was 
not  large  enough  for  his  ideas,  so  he  spent  most 
of  the  year  as  a  South  Sea  trader,  using  the 
whole  of  his  year's  income  in  one  wild  burst  of 
dissipation  in  the  town  of  Sydney.  One  *  his 
favourite  amusements  was  to  lure  a  harjK)^  cab 
for  a  day,  put  the  driver  inside,  and  drive  the 
vehicle  himself,  calling  upon  various  passers-by 
to  join  him  at  the  nearest  public-house.  In  the 
end  when  Jack  was  at  his  station  he  received 
word  that  his  trustee,  who  was  in  charge  of  his 
property,  had  levanted  with  it  all.  Whereupon 
poor  Jack  put  a  pistol  to  his  head  and  blew  out 
what  brains  he  possessed.  He  was  a  beautiful 
creature,  terribly  annoying  at  times,  but  with 
something  childlike  and  appealing  —  I  think 
he  was  close  to  what  the  Scotch  call  a  natural  — 
that  made  one  forgive  pranks  in  him  that  would 


' 


I!  ' 

1  i.i 


4) 


i 
t   « 


144  THE  ALM08T8 

be  unforgivable  in  otheri.  He  WM  very  proad 
of  being  the  original  of  Tommy  ^f^^ 
the  'Wrecker/  and  carried  the  book  with  him 
wherever  he  went." 


ii 


4. 


I 

h 
pi 

It  ', 


CHAPTER  IV 

NATHANHBL  HAWTHORNB:   AUCB  HEOAN  WCB: 
KATB  DOUGLAS  WlOOm:   SARAH  P.  MoL. 
greens:   ARNOLD  iniLDER:  THE 

contributors'  club 
Nathaniel  H  awthobnh — The  Mabbt.e  Faun 
Nathaniel  Hawthorne,  in  "The  Marble 
Faun,*'  uses  his  wonderful  gifts  of  imagination 
to  tell  another  story  that  should  be  read  when 
cme  is  quite  young,  as  a  maturer  judgment 
somewhat  spoils  one's  pleasure  with  too  many 
doubts  as  to  whether  such  a  person  ph  Dona- 
tello  could  ever  have  lived. 

He  (Donatello)  is  called  "underwitted"  by 
one  of  the  other  characters,  and  it  is  hinted 
that  his  ears  are  pointed,  and  that  he  is  much 
like  a  marble  faun  himself.  He  seems  to  be 
represented  as  less  than  human  and  therefore 
different  from  a  mental  defective,  who  is 
human. 
"How  old  should  you  think  him,  Hilda?" 
"Twenty  years,  perhaps,"  replied  Hilda, 
glancing  at  Donatello;  "but,  indeed,  I  cannot 
tell;  hardly  so  old,  on  second  thoughts,  or 


it  I 


I  ! 


f 


i 


' 


i. 


I. 


i* 


% 


!i= 


li  8> 


146  THE  ALMOSTS 

possibly  older.  He  has  nothing  to  do  with  time. 

but  has  a  look  of  eternal  youth  in  his  face.    ^^ 

"All  underwitted  people  have  that  look, 
said  Miriam  scornfully. 

The  beautiful  Hilda,  beloved  of  the  Amen- 
can  artist,  herself  an  American  girl;  Miriam, 
the  beautiful  Jewess,  whose  character  is  mys- 
terious and  incomprehensible,  with  a  shadow 
of  crime  behind  it,  and  DonateUo,  for  whom 
Miriam  has  an  overwhehning  attraction,  are 
the  chief  characters  in  the  story.  ^ 

It  is  more  than  once  hinted  that  DonateUo  8 
ancient  fanuly  had  once  own'  '  an  ancestor 
who  was  not  altogether  human. 

The  unhappy  occurrence  in  the  Catacomb, 
by  which  Miriam  meets  some  person  who 
haunts  her  like  a  specter  and  interrupts  both 
her  pleasures  and  her  work,  is  the  shadow  of 
that  coming  event  which  is  the  tragedy  of  the 

story. 

"One  of  Muiam*s  friends  took  the  matter 
sadly  to  heart.  This  was  the  young  ItaHan. 
DonateUo,  as  we  have  seen,  had  been  an  eye- 
witness of  the  stranger's  first  appearance,  and 
had  ever  since  nourished  a  singular  prejudice 
against  the  mysterious,  dusky,  death-scented 


*i: 


THE  MARBLE  FAUN 


147 


apparition.  It  resembled  not  so  much  a  human 
dislike  or  hatred,  as  one  of  those  instinctive, 
unreasoning  antipathies  which  the  lower  ani- 
mals sometimes  display,  and  which  generally 
prove  more  trustworthy  than  the  acutest  in- 
sight into  character.  The  shadow  of  the  model, 
always  flung  into  the  light  which  Miriam  dif- 
fused around  her,  caused  no  sUght  trouble  to 
Donatello.  Yet  he  was  of  a  nature  so  remark- 
ably genial  and  joyous,  so  simply  happy,  that 
he  might  well  afford  to  have  something  sub- 
tracted from  his  comfort,  and  make  tolerable 
shift  to  live  upon  what  remained." 

In  the  end,  when  Miriam  and  Donatello  are 
left  alone,  the  "specter"  appeared.  Donatello 
is  so  angry  at  seeing  the  unhappiness  of 
Miriam,  that  he  is  the  means  of  the  death  of 
the  "specter"  by  dashing  him  over  a  cliff. 

After  this  occurrence  Donatello  is  never 
happy  again.  We  have  a  glimpse  of  him  as  host 
to  Kenyon  at  his  own  castle  of  Beni,  but  the 
terrible  secret  haunts  him,  and  the  woman 
whom  he  loves,  and  makes  him  a  different 
person.  Kenyon  thinks  that  "From  some  mys- 
terious source,  as  the  sculptor  felt  assured,  a 
soul  had  been  inspired  into  the  young  Count's 


n\ 


if 


1»  ■  '■ 


liv 

m 

p:ii 


i  a  1 ' 


■■'M 

IS 


i:  I 

ji 


148  THE  ALMOSTS 

simpUdty,  «nce  their  intercourse  in  Rome. 
He  now  showed  a  far  deeper  sense,  and  an 
intelligence  that  began  to  de«l^  ^^  j)^^  ^^^ 
iects,  though  in  a  feeble  and  childish  way. 
He  evinced,  too.  a  more  definite  and  nobler 
individuaUty.  but  developed  out  of  gnef  ^d 
pain,  and  fearfully  conscious  of  the  pangs  that 
had  given  it  birth.  Every  human  hfe,  rf  it 
ascends  to  truth  or  delves  down  to  reahty. 
must  midergo  a  similar  change;  but  some- 
tunes,  perhaps,  the  instruction  comes  without 
the  sorrow;  and  oftener  the  sorrow  teadies  no 
lesson  that  abides  with  us.  In  Donatello  s  case, 
it  was  pitiful,  and  ahnost  ludici-ous,  to  observe 
the  confused  struggle  that  he  made;  how  com- 
pletely he  was  taken  by  8mT>rise;  how  lU- 
prepared  he  stood,  on  this  old  battle-field  of 
\he  world,  to  fight  with  such  an  mevitable 
foe  as  mortal  calamity,  and  sin  for  its  stronger 

ally."  _      .  „    . 

In  tiie  end  it  is  hinted  tiiat  Donatello  is 

imprisoned  for  his  crime;  and  the  last  ghmpse 
of  Miriam,  who  is  supposed  to  have  mfluential 
comiections  in  B«me,  and  perhaps  to  have 
sometiiing  to  do  with  poUtical  intrigues,  is  as 
a  penitent,  kneeling. 


i'l 


MB.  OPP 


149 


This  fanciful  stoiy  while  it  does  not  add 
another  to  the  mentally  defective  characters 
in  literature,  is  interesting  as  an  indication  of 
people's  ideas  on  this  subject. 


AucB  Hegan  Rice  —  Mb.  Opp 

Alice  Hegan  Rice,  in  "Mr.  Opp,"  tells  the 
story  of  a  mentally  defective  girl  "Kippy." 
The  writer,  however,  speaks  of  her  as  "half- 
crazed,"  not  distinguishing  the  two  conditions. 

Mr.  D.  Webster  Opp,  who  is  Kippy's 
brother,  appears  at  the  opening  of  the  storj', 
attending  his  stepfather's  funeral. 

"You  don't,"  says  Mr.  Opp  to  his  brother 
Ben,  "know  Kippy;  she's  just  similar  to  a  little 
child,  quiet  and  gentle-like.  Never  give  any- 
body any  trouble  in  her  life.  Just  plays  with 
her  dolls,  and  sings  to  herself  all  day." 

"Exactly,"  said  Ben;  "twenty-five  years 
old  and  still  playing  with  dolls.  I  saw  her 
yesterday  dressed  up  in  all  sorts  of  foolish 
toggery,  talking  to  her  hands,  and  laughing. 
Aunt  Tish  humors  her,  and  her  father  humored 
her,  but  I'm  not  going  to.  I  feel  sorry  for  her 
all  right,  but  I  am  not  going  to  take  her  home 
with  me." 


Hi 


•a^ 


Hi 

[i  h 


150  THE  ALMOSTS 

"D.  Webster  nervously  twisted  the  large 
seal  ring  which  he  wore  on  his  forefinger. 

"Then  what  do  you  mean,'*  he  said 
hesitatingly  — "what   do   you   want   to   do 

about  it?" 

"Why,  send  her  to  an  asylum,  of  course. 
That's  where  she  ought  to  have  been  aU  these 

"Send  Kippy  to  a  lunatic  asylum!  he  said 
in  tones  so  indignant  that  they  made  his  chm 
tremble.  "You  will  do  nothing  whatever  of  the 
kind!  Why,  all  she's  ever  had  in  the  world  was 
her  pa  and  Aunt  Tish  and  her  home;  now 
he's  gone,  you  ain't  wanting  to  take  the 
others  away  from  her  too,  are  you?" 

So  Kippy  remains  with  her  brother,  Mr.  D. 

Webster  Opp.  ,     i       nr 

The  crisis  in  the  story  is  reached  when  Mr. 
Opp  falls  in  love  with  Guinevere  Gusty  and 
Kippy  finds  and  reads  a  letter  written  by 
Guinevere  containing  these  words.  "Mother 
says  I  can  never  marry  you  till  Kippy  goes  to 
the  asylum."  Poor  Kippy  then  runs  away  from 
home  to  the  asylum  where  her  brother  finally 
discovers  her  and  brings  her  home. 

Mr.  Opp's  peculiarities  are  made  much  of 


r 


MB.  OPP  IS)^ 

in  the  story,  but  the  writer  shows  her  kindness 
of  heart  in  giving  him  a  position  in  the  respect 
and  esteem  of  his  fellow  citizens.  While  he  was 
making  a  speech  at  the  banquet  tendered  to 
him  on  the  occasion  of  his  retirement  from  his 
newspaper  "The  Opp  Eagle/'  Aunt  Tish 
arrives  with  a  message  that  the  poor  feeble- 
minded girl  needs  him  — 

"Hit's  Miss  Kippy,"  she  whispered.  "I  hate 
to  'sturb  you,  but  she  done  crack  her  doll's 
head,  an'  she's  takin'  on  so  I  can't  do  nuffin't 
all  wif  her." 

"Could  n't  you  contrive  to  get  her  quiet 
no  way  at  all?"  asked  Mr.  Opp  anxiously. 

"Naw,  sir.  She  mek  like  dat  doll  her  shore 
'nough  baby,  and  she  'low  she  gwine  die,  too, 
furst  chanct  she  gits.  I  got  Val's  mother  to 
stay  wif  her  till  I  git  back." 

"AU  right,"  said  Mr.  Opp  hastily.  "You 
go  right  on  and  tell  her  I'm  coming." 

"When  he  reSntered  the  dining-room  he  held 
his  hat  in  his  hand. 

"I  find  an  urgent  matter  of  business  calls  me 
back  home;  for  only  a  few  moments  I  trust," 
he  said  apologetically,  with  bows  and  smiles. 
"If  the  banquet  will  kindly  proceed,  I  will 


itil 


t);i| 


:li 


It  ■ 


V 


;  1 


158  THEALMOSTS. 

endeavor  to  return  in  ample  time  for  the  final 

speeches.'*  ,       , .      * 

"With  the  air  of  a  monarch  takmg  tem- 
porary leave  of  his  subjects,  he  turned  his 
back  upon  the  gay,  protesting  crowd,  upon  the 
feast  prepared  in  his  honor,  upon  the  speech- 
making  so  dear  to  his  heart.  Tramping  through 
the  snow  of  the  deserted  street,  through  the 
lonely  graveyard,  and  along  the  river  road,  he 
went  to  bind  up  the  head  of  a  chma  doll,  and 
to  wipe  away  the  tears  of  a  Uttie  half-crazed 

"He  wears  the  same  checked  suit  as  when 
we  saw  hun  first,  worn  and  frayed,  to  be  sure, 
but  carefully  pressed  for  the  occasion,  the 
same  brave  scarf  and  pin,  and  watch  fob, 
though  the  wateh  is  missing. 

Passing  out  of  sight  with  the  sleet  in  his  face, 
and  the  wind  cutting  through  his  finery,  he 
whistles  as  he  goes,  such  a  plucky,  sturdy, 
hopeful  whisUe  as  calls  to  arms  the  courage 
that  lies  slumbering  in  the  hearts  of  men." 

There  is  a  still  kmder  way  of  caring  for  men- 
tal defectives.  A  way  that  is  wiser  and  more 
just,  as  well  as  kinder.   , 


^h 


MABM  LISA 


153 


EaTB  DOITOLAB  WlGGIN— MaBM  LiBA 

AJisa  Bennett,  a  girl  of  about  ten  or  twelve 
years  of  age  when  the  story  opens,  is  repre- 
sented as  feeble-minded  and  apparently  epi- 
leptic. She  is  living  with  a  Mrs.  Grubb,  who 
is  describeu  as  "not  a  home  spirit"  and  very 
fond  of  starting  a  society  or  association  for 
every  possible  thing.  She  takes  no  care  of  her 
children,  who  are  frequently  referred  to  as 
"Atlantic"  and  "Pacific."  They  are  trouble- 
some children  and  need  a  good  deal  of  care, 
which  is  given  to  them  partly  by  the  husband 
of  Mrs.  Grubb  but  much  more  by  Alisa. 

Alisa  and  the  children  find  their  way  to  a 
free  kindergarten.  The  rest  of  the  story  is  an 
account  of  the  way  in  which  the  poor  feeble- 
minded girl  worshiped  Mi.^tress  Mary,  who  is 
the  Principal  of  the  Kindergarten,  and  what 
Mistress  Mary  and  her  assistants  did  for  Alisa. 

There  are  many  passages  in  the  book  which 
can  hardly  be  regarded  either  as  reasonable  or 
accurate.  Apparently  the  author  thinks  it  is  pos- 
sible to  cure  mental  defect.  She  says,  for  ex- 
ample, "that  the  other  children  became  aware 
that  a  human  mind  was  tottering  to  its  fall 


1 


I 


154 


THE  ALMOSTS 


i ' 


IV  . 


1.    *. 


N   I 


m 


and  that  Mistress  Mary  was  engaged  in  pre- 
venting it."  She  makes  several  allusions  to 
alleged  medical  opinions,  and  she  represents 
Mistress  Mary,  with  the  steel  band  she  wore 
in  her  hair,  as  the  possessor  of  more  power  than 
we  poor  mortals  really  have.  However,  the  ob- 
ject of  the  book  is  in  every  way  excellent  and 
no  doubt  it  has  helped  to  waken  mterest  in  and 
compassion  for  the  feeble-minded.  The  book 
reaches  its  climax  in  a  fire  and  Marm  Lisa 
shows  herself  a  heroine  in  this  fire,  saving  the 
lives  of  Atlantic  and  Pacific. 

In  spite  of  some  passages  which  can  hardly 
be  regarded  as  anything  but  absurd,  this  book 
is  interesting  as  recording  one  of  the  phases 
in  the  history  of  the  recognition  and  treatment 
of  the  feeble-minded  in  the  community. 

S.  P.  McL.  Gbbenb  —  Vbstt  of  the  BAsma 

In  "Vesty  of  the  Basins,"  by  Sarah  P. 
McL.  Greene,  there  appears  a  feeble-minded 
person.  Uncle  Benny,  who  was  treated  kindly 
by  the  other  inhabitants  of  the  Basins. 

He  meets  Vesty  and  her  lover. 

"Here  is  a  good  sign;  so  the  Basins  held. 
No  sign  so  propitious  to  a  love  affair  as  meet- 


BRAM  OF  THE  FIVE  GORNEBS     155 

ing  with  one  of  God's  innocent  ones  —  a 
'natural/  And  here  was  Dr.  Spearmint  (Uncle 
Benny)  leading  the  children  to  school  —  the 
very  little  ones.  They  clung,  and  one  he 
carried.** 

He  makes  himself  useful  by  caring  for  the 
very  little  diildren  on  the  way  to  school  and 
back  again;  he  loves  bright  colors;  he  repeats 
the  same  phrase  again  and  again,  and  has  a 
very  limited  number  of  ideas,  characteristic 
of  the  class  to  which  he  belongs.  He  is  very 
easily  deceived,  he  has  some  knowledge  of 
music,  and  is  represented  in  the  story  as  living 
alone.  He  is  very  a£Fectionate  —  the  greatest 
thing  in  the  character  of  a  mental  defective*  as 
it  is  in  that  of  any  other  human  being. 


1 

■fl 


Abnold  Muloeb  —  Bbam  of  the  Fivi:  Cobnxbs 
Many  books  contain  one  character  more  or 
less  mentally  defective,  but,  except  "Bram,** 
"Mann  Lisa,'*  and  "Bamaby  Rudge,"  there 
are  perhaps  none  where  one  of  the  leading 
characters  is  feeble-minded,  and  where  the 
history  and  nature  of  mental  defect  is  closely 
interwoven  with  the  plot.  Mental  defect  is  the 
main  theme  of  the  story  in  "Bram."  The  scene 


■  «   ! 
I"  . 


>}^ 


irA 


1     i 


I5Q  THE  ALM08TS 

U  laid  in  rural  Michigan,  among  the  Dutch  or 
Hollanders,  who  are  represented  as  so  ignorant, 
narrow-mmded,  and  unprogressive  that  the 
reader  wonders  if  the  settlement  described  is 
a  typical  one.  or  if  it  is  quite  exceptionaJ  m 
respect  to  the  character  of  the  people  Uving 
there.  The  skill  of  the  author  is  rather  that  of 
the  journalist  than  of  the  novelist,  but  the 
interest  in  the  story  is  well  sustained. 

The  book  is  a  sign  of  the  times  and  will  be 
read  with  keen  interest  by  those  concerned 
about  social  problems.  Perhaps  the  most  at- 
tractive character  in  the  book  is  the  young 
mmister,  who  was  as  progressive  as  his  people 
were  unprogressive  and  as  much  inclined  to 
be  kind  as  they  were  to  be  harsh. 

When  Bram,  the  hero  of  the  story,  was 
fourteen  years  old,  he  went  "berry-picking" 
to  the  woods  by  the  hike,  along  with  aU  the 
other  boys  and  girls  of  the  Five  Comers.  It  was 
"a    rough-and-tumble,    rapturous,    care-free 
rural  picnic."  In  the  course  of  the  afternoon  he 
lost  his  way  and  his  halloo  was  answered  by  a 
girl,  also  lost  in   the  woods,  named  Hattie 
Wanhope,  a  pretty  girl,  who  "giggled  a  great 
deal  and  . . .  chattered  incessantly." 


ii 


, 


BRAM  OF  THE  FIVE  CORNERS     W7 

The  ahy,  Umid  country  boy  began  to  dream 
and  to  be  greatly  attracted  by  the  girl,  who 
was  neither  shy  nor  timid,  and  three  years 
older  than  the  boy.  Before  many  months  their 
attachment  was  noticed  in  the  Five  Comers 
and  one  good  lady  demanded  —  "What  U  the 
world  comin*  to,  .  .  .  boys  and  girls  is  hardly 
out  of  their  baby  dresses  but  they  start  to 
*go  together/" 

Bram  was  a  boy  capable  of  great  things,  and 
the  young  minister,  who  was  the  greatest 
influence  for  good  in  Bram's  early  life,  realized 
this,  and  said  to  hun  one  day  — "I  like  to 
think  of  you  a  few  years  hence  as  a  man  who 
will  not  think  of  himself  alone;  nor  yet  only 
of  the  woman  you  will  marry;  I  like  to  think 
of  you  as  a  man  who  will  leave  the  race  stronger 
than  you  found  it.'* 

The  death  of  the  young  minister  leaves 
Bram  without  a  guide,  but  his  eyes  are  gradu- 
ally opened  to  the  fact  that  Hattie,  whom  he 
intended  ;  i  marry,  must  be  feeble-minded.  He 
hears  a  lecture  upon  "The  Child  Who  Never 
Grows  Up,"  by  Dr.  Victor.  Bram  sees  Dr. 
Victor  afterwards  and  hears  from  him  that 
"It  can  be  predicted  as  definitely  as  anything 


Ill 


Mi 


m 


*  i\ 


158  THE  ALM06TS 

can  be  predicted  that  the  man  who  marries  a 
feeble-minded  woman  or  the  woman  who 
marries  a  feeble-minded  man  will  bring  a  curse 
upon  the  children.  And  they  contribute  towards 
retardmg  the  development  of  a  better  and 
stronger  race  of  men.  May  I  add  that  for  such 
a  man  to  pray  for  the  coming  of  the  Kingdon> 
of  God  seems  sacril^e  to  me.'* 

As  usual,  Bram  could  have  learned  thU 
without  going  to  Dr.  Victor.  The  farmers  o. 
the  Five  Comers  had  no  difficulty  in  m  :  mt? 
a  diagnosis  of  the  Wanhope  family.  *'To  Vc 
boys  of  the  Five  Comers  the  family  did  not 
seem  entirely  'impossible*;  to  them  Hattie  was 
the  Wanhope  family.  But  the  men  and  women 
of  the  community  did  not  allow  their  judg- 
ments to  be  warped  by  a  pretty  face.  To  them 
the  Wanhope  family  seemed  an  alien  element. 

"Nor  did  the  prettiness  of  Hattie  warp  the 
judgment  of  the  very  small  boys  of  the  Five 
Comers.  'Crazy  Chris*  was  the  name  they  had 
invented  for  the  head  of  the  house,  and  un- 
consciously their  elders  adopted  the  term. 

"The  bam  of  Chris  Wanhope  was  the 
scandal  of  the  Five  Comers.  There  was  not 
another  bam  like  it  within  a  radius  of  five 


w 


BRAM  OF  THE  FIVE  GORNEBS      150 


:• 


miles ;  that  is  to  say ,  there  was  not  another  bam 
like  it  as  far  as  the  horizon  of  the  people  of  the 
community  extended.  No  farmer  of  the  Five 
Comers  could  ever  repress  a  feeling  of  resent- 
ment when  he  passed  the  Wanhope  farm  and 
saw  the  old  patchwork  of  rough  boards  and 
shingles  that  housed  the  cattle  and  in  which 
the  hay  and  grain  were  stored." 

"Why,  it  ain't  no  bam,"  Berend  would  say 
tO  Anton;  "it's  nothin'  more  than  a  shed,  and 
a  mighty  poor  shed  at  that." 

"His  cows  look  it,"  Anton  would  answ^; 
"their  hair's  grown  twice  as  long  as  that  of 
other  cows.  They're  like  bears  in  the  far  North 
what  grow  hair  in  winter  to  protect  them 
against  the  cold.  Than  cows  of  Chris  have  got  to 
keep  warm  somehow,  and  that's  the  only  way 
—  what  with  cracks  in  the  bam  a  foot  wide." 

"Have  you  been  inside?" 

"Once."  Chris  Wanhope  was  not  one  of  the 
people  of  the  Five  Comers  although  he  lived 
among  them.  They  did  not  visit  him  in  his 
bam,  as  they  visited  frequently  in  the  bams 
of  .  ther  neighbors. 

'Jut  no  matter  what  improvements  Chris's 
neighbors  made,  the  bam  of  Chris  Wanhope  re- 


160 


THE  ALMOSTS 


i 


■} 


I:  .. 


r 


It 


t 

h 
1 


mained  a  *shed.'  When  all  the  others  erected 
silos  Chris  continued  to  store  his  com  stalks 
in  the  primitive  way,  and  all  the  other  im- 
provements that  followed  left  him  where  he 
had  always  been.  It  was  absolutely  unthinkable 
that  he  should  ever  make  any  repairs  that  the 
wind  and  the  raLn  and  the  frost  did  not  compel 
him  to  make;  and  even  then  they  were  made 
only  after  some  mischief  had  been  done  to  the 
stock. 

"The  good  opinion  of  his  neighbors  never 
meant  anything  to  him.  He  did  not  realize  that 
he  was  not  Uving  up  to  the  social  standards  of 
the  conmiunity. 

"It  was  well  known  to  the  people  of  the  Five 
Comers,  and  it  was  often  told  by  them  to 
visitors,  that  Chris  never  had  been  known  to 
split  his  kindling  wood  in  the  evening;  he 
invariably  waited  until  he  needed  it  in  the 
morning.  Then  he  shuffled  through  the  snow, 
found  a  board  or  a  'chunk,'  frequently  ripping 
the  board  off  a  fence,  if  no  other  fuel  was  at 
hand,  and  split  the  kindling  for  the  morning's 
fire.  When  he  reasoned  about  it  at  all  his  logic 
was  to  the  effect  that  the  fence  would  not  be 
needed  again  until  the  following  summer  and 


I 


\ 


BRAM  OP  THE  FIVE  CORNERS     161 

that  it  was  no  use  worrying  so  long  ahead. 
The  fire,  however,  was  needed  at  that  mo- 
ment." 

After  his  long  talk  with  Dr.  Victor,  Bram 
of  course  feels  that  he  must  not  marry  Hattie 
and  he  tries  to  tell  her  so.  "But  she  did  not 
understand.  And  it  came  to  Bram  all  at  once 
that  she  could  never  be  made  to  understand. 
...  A  quart  measure  can  never  be  educated 
to  hold  a  bushel." 

The  Church  and  the  conununity  turn 
against  Bram,  and  he  has  to  leave  the  Five 
Comers  and  go  to  the  city.  After  a  good  many 
difficulties  he  finds  employment  on  "The  Sun" 
as  a  reporter.  He  gains  the  confidence  of  the 
editor,  Mr.  Craik,  who  tells  him  one  night  — 
"It  is  n't  the  calling  I  lay  stress  on;  it's  the 
spirit  in  which  the  work  is  done." 

"What  is  the  Gospel  of  'The  Sun'?"  Mr. 
Craik  continued.  "Is  n't  it  the  wide  human 
charity  that  Jesus  Christ  himself  preached? 
When  the  red-light  district  was  driven  out  last 
year,  did  n't  'The  Sun'  call  attention  to  the 
fact  that  the  women  deprived  of  a  Uvelihood 
were  women  with  souls  and  that  merely  driv- 
ing them  out  did  not  end  the  task?  The  good 


If: 

-J* 


im 


THE  ALMOSTS 


i't 


I 

}■■" 


people  were  throwing  stones.  I  am  not  blaming 
them.  They  were  sincere  for  the  most  part. 
They  merely  did  not  thmk.  They  did  not  real- 
ize that  throwing  stones  is  not  all  that  is  neces- 
sary. Christ  treated  the  woman  of  the  red- 
light  district  as   a  sister.   And   'The   Sun* 
preached  to  sixty  thousand  people  the  gospel 
of  doing  the  same.  It  was  done  imperfectly, 
I  admit.  Yet  the  sincere  impulse  was  there  to 
hold  Lhis  course  up  as  a  not  impossible  ideal. 
*The  Sun,'  or  any  other  paper  for  that  matter, 
is  not  regenerating  society  in  a  generation. 
I  used  to  think  it  would  but  I  have  learned 
to  readjust  my  ideas.  There  is  nearly  as  much 
selfishness  and  uncharitableness  here  as  there 
was  seventeen  years  ago  when  I  began  my 
work;  but  not  quite  as  much.  I  believe  there  is 
a  narrow  margin  of  advance.  And  that  narrow 
margin  gives  me  enthusiasm  for  going  on. 
Neither  for  that  matter  does  the  minister  in 
the  pulpit    regenerate    even  his  small  flock 
in  a  generation." 

Bram  makes  his  way,  and  finds  happiness. 
He  does  not  forget  poor  Hattie,  whom  he 
attempts  to  befriend  more  than  once,  always 
with  no  success.  Hers  is  the  sad  fate  of  the 


HERITAGES  OF  THE  LORD        16S 

pretty,  feebfe-minded  girl.  This  story  gives  a 
true  picture  of  the  problem  of  caring  for  men- 
iaHy  defective  persons  in  our  modem  com- 
munities. 

The  Contributobs'  Club 
In  January,  1917,  the  following  remarka- 
ble contribution  appeared  in  the  "Atlantic 
Monthly." 

The  visitors  in  the  Court  represent  Public 
Opinion.  People  are  beginning  to  feel  that 
"Something  will  have  to  be  done"  about  the 
fedi»le-minded  and  that  we  must  do  it. 


HbEUTAOES  of  THE]  LORD 

The  smi  shone  through  the  high  windows 
on  the  judge's  yeUow  luur.  It  touched  the  calf- 
skin volumes  on  his  orderly  desk.  It  glowed 
through  the  fcdds  of  the  large  silk  flag  above 
the  bookcase.  Yes,  the  court-room  was  toler- 
able. But  not  the  sun  itself  could  brighten 
the  scnxlid  room  across  the  hall,  —  that  room 
packed  with  grimy,  lowering  fathers,  grimy, 
worried  mothers,  grimy,  sullen,  abnormal 
children. 

"Next  case,"  said  the  judge  curtly. 


if 


w  ■ 

I  i 


v 


fi 


id) 


i' ' 

Ik  ■» 


184  THE  ALMOSTS 

A  starehy  probation  officer  laid  papers  before 
him.  She  looked  Uke  an  animated  ledger.  She, 
if  any  <me,  could  cOTivince  you  that  we  are 
made  of  carbohydrates  and  protekls,  and  that 
the  joy  of  life  is  a  mere  figure  of  ^leech. 

The  ushers  fluttered  about  a  grimy  caravan 
that  came  in  from  across  the  hall.  They  ranged 
their  charges  before  the  coort.  In  front  were 
a  small  boy  and  girl.  Their  clothes  seemed 
impregnated  with  the  dust  of  ages.  The  little 
girl's  dress  alone  would  have  sufficed  to  silt  up 
the  multitudinous  seas. 

"Your  Honor,  Mr.  Housel  asks  the  court 
to  commit  these  children  to  homes,"  said  the 
probation  officer. 

The  judge  fumbled  the  papers.  He  tamed 
calm,  blue  eyes  on  the  father. 

"I  committed  two  of  Mr.  Housel's  children 
last  year,"  he  remarked. 

The  man's  hat,  once  black,  was  uow  green. 
He  turned  it  round  in  his  stiff  fingers.  With  a 
face  all  anxious  goodness,  he  watched  the  judge. 
"The  mother  can't  keep  them  from  running 
the  streets,"  stated  the  probation  officer. 
"She's  feeble-minded.  She  has  no  control  over 
them." 


If 
I' 

4-- 


HEBITA6ES  OF  THE  LORD        1«S 

The  grimy  woman  plucked  at  her  husband's 
sleeve,  and  muttered  unintelligibly. 

"How  about  the  father?"  asked  the  judge. 

Shuffling  his  lumpy  boots,  the  man  cast  his 
eyes  on  the  judge's  blue  silk  socks  and  patent 
leather  shoes. 

**He*8  all  right,"  the  probation  officer  re- 
plied. "Sober,  kind,  hard-working.  He  makes 
two  dollars  a  day  regularly." 

"Why  can't  he  control  the  children?" 

"He's  away  all  day,  your  Honor.  He  works 
<m  the  railroad." 

"Can't  the  mother  be  advised?  Is  there  no 
hope  of  improved  conditions?" 
"  "No,  your  Honor.  She's  feeble-minded." 

The  judge  frowned  at  his  neat  finger-nails. 
He  addressed  the  father,  mildly. 

"Where  does  your  wife  come  from?" 

The  grimy  man  lifted  his  gaze  from  the  blue 
ffllk  socks  to  the  blue  eyes. 

"From  Virginia,  Judge,"  he  stammered. 

"You  married  her  in  Virginia?** 

"Yes,  Judge." 

"How  old  was  she?" 

"Seventeen." 

Evidently  this  draggled  creature,  who  looked 


i»r- 


i  i 


51" 


i;  ^ 


188  THE  ALMOSTS 

as  if  she  had  been  salvaged  from  an  ash-banel. 

was  actually  seventeen,  once  upon  a  time. 

"Virginia  allows  feeble-minded  persons  to 
marry,"  commented  the  probation  officer. 

The  probation  officer  was  clean  and  practical, 
life  showed  her  only  its  black  and  white.  No 
dusty  section-hand  had  ever  courted  her  m 
Virgmia  in  May.  And  yet  perhaps  even  proba- 
tion officers  are  marriageable  at  seventeen. 
Now,  with  unemotional  ease,  she  discussed  the 
feeble  mind  of  the  grimy  woman  in  the  grimy 
woman's  presence. 

"You  wish  me  to  commit  these  children 
as  I  did  the  others  last  year?"  the  judge  turned 
to  the  father. 

"Yes,  judge." 

The  woman  plucked  again  at  her  husband  s 

sleeve,  inarticulate. 

"She  wants  to  keep  the  baby,"  he  ventured 
to  the  probation  officer.  He  dared  not  address 
this  bold  demand  to  the  court. 

"Which  is  the  baby?"  inquired  the  judge. 
"The  baby  is  n't  here,"  explained  the  pro- 
bation officer.  "It's  a  little  baby.  Only  a  few 
months  old.  Bom  since  you  committed  the 
others,  last  year.'* 


LA 


HERITAGES  OF  THE  LORD        167 

"What  do  you  think?"  the  judge  asked  the 
probation  officer. 

"Oh,  she  might  as  well  keep  the  baby,"  she 
conceded,  indifferently.  "She  can't  do  it  any 
harm,  yet." 

The  grimy  woman's  face  relaxed  its  ten- 
sion. 

The  judge  signed  commitment  papers.  The 
hearing  was  over. 

*'Next  case,"  commanded  the  court  as  the 
grimy  family  filed  out. 
^"But  you  can't  let  her  keep  the  baby  when 
it  gets  older,"  protested  the  visitors  to  the  pro- 
bation officer. 

She  shrugged. 
)  "By  that  time  there'll  be  another  baby,** 
she  predicted. 

"For  the  state  to  support!" 

"For  the  state  to  suf^Mrt.  Exactly." 

"And  the  mother  feeMe-mindedl"  The  vis- 
itors were  horrified. 

"They're  all  subnormal,"  added  the  proba- 
tion officer. 

And,  remembering  great  families  that  have 
died  out  in  Virginia,  the  visitors  asked,  "What 
of  a  state  that  lets  its  best  stock  perish,  and 


II 


I 


iZ 


ii^^ 


■I 


108 


THE  ALMOSTS 


permits  a  feeble-minded  woman  to  bear  five 
children?" 

"Don't  blame  Virginia,"  remonstrated  the 
probation  oflBcer.  "She  just  happened  to  be 
from  Virginia.  Plenty  of  other  statea  do  the 
same  thing.  They  won't  restrict  the  liberty 
of  the  citizen." 
The  visitors  exclaimed  indignantly. 
"Laws  are  much  occupied  with  the  rights 
of  citizens.  The  right  to  be  bom,  especially. 
Why  should  the  Uw  overlook  the  right  of  the 
citizen  not  to  be  bom  feeble-minded?" 
Nobody  seemed  to  know  the  answer. 
"You  say  the  father  of  those  children  works 
hard?"  continued  the  visitors. 

"He  earns  good  wages,"  agreed  the  proba- 
tion officer. 

"Should  n't  the  law  have  protected  him  and 
his  descendants  from  this  blight?  K  he  had 
known  that  his  children  would  be  defective, 
can  any  one  suppose  he  would  have  married 
such  a  woman?  How  could  he  know  that  she 
was  feeble-minded?  And  he  had  a  right  to 

know." 

The  iwobation  officer  smiled  commiserat- 
ingly.  Sie  was  not  paid  to  worry  about  the  law. 


^!  I' 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  CASE  FOB  THE  FEEBLE-MINDED 

Gbeat  writers  have  recognized  the  feeble- 
minded. They  know  that  there  are  such  people. 
When  they  painted  the  great  world  there  was 
a  place  found  on  the  canvas  for  the  feeble- 
minded. Great  writers  discovered  long  before 
the  modem  "uplifter**  was  bom  that  we  must 
reckon  with  the  mental  defective  as  one  of 
those  many  things  in  heaven  and  earth  that 
are  not  dealt  with  by  some  philosophers,  and 
yet  that  make  a  great  difference  to  the  com- 
munity and  to  social  progress. 

Kindness  is  the  key  that  unlocks  the  prob- 
lem of  the  feeble-minded — kindness  and 
wisdom.  The  feeble-minded  must  have  a  per- 
manent guide,  philosopher  and  friend,  so 
Wamba  has  Cedric  and  Gurth,  Maggy  has 
Little  Dorrit,  Billy  has  Dr.  Amboyne,  and 
Henry  Little,  and  Bamaby  Rudge  has  his 
mother.  Mental  defectives  cannot  manage  by 
themselves,  though  we  have  tried  to  pretend 
to  the  contrary. 


LP  r  r, 

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Mi  ■ 


1  : 


170  THE  ALM06TS 

As  to  our  attitude  toward*  them:  Nksholai 
Nkskleby  "treated  Smike  like  a  human  crea- 
ture." So  he  was.  So  was  the  Fool  in  "Lear." 
So  with  the  rest.  They  are  human  creatures  — 
human  beings,  and  differ  among  themselves  in 
reactions,  in  character,  in  endowment,  in  emo- 
tion, ahnost  as  much  as  the  rest  of  us.  Yet 
whUe  this  is  true,  there  remains  a  world  of 
difference  even  in  fiction  between  the  normal 
and  the  mentally  defective.  Little  Dorrit  and 
Maggy,  Gurth  and  Wamba.  Gabriel  Varden 
and  Bamaby  Budge- the  verdict  is  never  in 
doubt  for  a  moment.  The  one  makes  upon 
the  reader  the  definite  impression  of  a  nor- 
mal person,  but  the  other  is  "not  all  there." 

Givx  THmc  A  Cbamcb 
The  Golden  Rule  applies  to  them.  We  are  to 
do  for  them  what  we  would  others  should  do 
for  us.  Give  them  justice  and  a  fair  chance. 
Do  not  throw  them  into  a  world  where  the 
scales  are  weighted  against  them.  Do  not  ask 
them  to  gather  grapes  of  thorns  or  figs  of 
thistles.  But  give  them  one  chance  to  bring 
out  the  best  that  is  in  them.  This  is  but  a  fair 
request  on  behalf  of  human  beings  who  never- 


GIVE  THEM  A  CHANCE 


171 


theleu  are  pennanent  children  and  who  wfll 
never  grow  up  —  whose  joys,  and  sorrows,  and 
sins,  and  virtues  are  all  on  a  childish  scale. 
Responsibility,  Moept  so  far  as  a  child  under- 
stands it,  is  not  their  portion.  The  achieve- 
ments of  life,  for  them,  are  bounded  by  their 
mental  make-up  and  character  —  just  as  our 
own  achievements  are,  though  on  a  little  larger 
scale. 

So  with  their  education.  What  was  the  use 
of  teaching  Toots  to  read  and  write?  His  letter- 
writing  was  a  joke  and  did  him  more  harm 
than  good.  His  view  of  himself  as  to  clothes 
and  otherwise  is  that  of  a  boy  of  about  half 
his  age. 

Why  condemn  poor  Smike  to  the  agony  of 
trying  to  do  school  tasks?  They  were  beyond 
him,  hopelessly  and  entirely  beyond  him. 
How  cruel  to  expect  him  to  learn,  even  at  the 
age  of  nineteen,  tasks  which  "a  duld  of  nine 
years  old  could  have  conquered  with  ease." 
Yet  this  suffering,  this  cruelty  is  conunonly 
perpetrated  in  our  schools.  The  unhappy  men- 
tally defective  pupils  are  expected  to  learn 
what  they  cimnot  learn  —  urged,  talked  to  and 
at  —  often  held  up  to  ridicule  —  when  it  is 


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(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


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THE  ALMOSTS 


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not  they,  but  we  ourselves  who  are  in  fault. 
Teach  them  what  they  can  learn  —  not  what 
they  cannot  learn.  That  seems  axiomatic,  but 
it  is  not  yet  accepted  as  an  axiom.  For  they 
can  all  learn  something.  Silly  Billy  "can  beat 
the  town  at  one  or  two  things.**  He  learned 
wood-carving  and  so  was  able  to  do  his  share 
in  the  partnership.  He  could  tell  by  the  sound 
when  a  stone  turning  in  the  works  had  a  flaw 
in  it  —  that  is,  he  was  an  expert  —  in  stones. 
So  was  Davie  Gellatley  — in  roasting  eggs. 
So  are  all  mental  defectives  —  if  we  can  only 
find  out  their  nUtier. 

What  we  ought  to  do  is  to  find  out,  in  the 
case  of  the  feeble-minded  in  our  own  com- 
munity, what  their  special  gifts  are.  They  have 
gifts.  But  it  takes  a  wise  person  to  see  the 
strong  points,  the  cleverness,  the  capacity, 
of  another.  Any  fool  can  find  fault.  Any  passer- 
by can  show  you  a  weak  point.  But  the  divin- 
ing-rod does  not  work  in  every  man's  hand. 
It  was  Jonathan  who  saw  that  David  was  to 
be  king  in  Israel.  It  was  Andrew  who  went 
and  first  found  his  own  brother  Simon.  It  was 
Columbus  who  discovered  America.  It  was 
Lister  who  saw  the  meaning  of  Pasteur's  dis- 


'V 

u 

^  > 

I 
1/ 


GIVE  THEM  A  CHANCE 


173 


coveries.  It  is  the  age  of  true  democracy  that 
will  not  only  give  every  one  justice,  but  will 
redeem  the  waste  products  of  humanity  and 
give  the  mental  defective  all  the  chance  he 
needs  to  develop  his  gifts  and  all  the  protec- 
tion he  needs  to  keep  away  from  him  evils  and 
temptations  that  he  never  will  be  grown-up 
enough  to  resist,  and  that  society  cannot 
afford  to  let  him  fall  a  victim  to.  So  developed 
and  encouraged  the  feeble-minded  can  almost 
or  quite  maintain  themselves,  under  care  and 
supervision,  and  that  means,  as  a  rule,  resi- 
dence in  an  institution.  Even  Squeers  said  of 
Smike,  "A  handy  fellow  out  of  doors  und 
worth  his  meat  and  drink  anyway." 

Here  is  the  darker  side  of  the  picture.  How 
many  mental  defectives  like  Smike  and  Guster 
and  Maggy  are  exploited  and  imposed  on  and 
cruelly  treated  and  robbed  by  the  unscrupu- 
lous? How  many  are  deceived  and  persuaded 
into  criminal  acts  —  even  to  murder,  like 
Bamaby  Rudge,  and  so  are  cast  into  prison 
and  meet  the  punishment  of  felons?  Yet  they 
have  no  real  conception  of  what  they  are  do- 
ing at  all.  The  crimes  of  the  anti-social  are  as 
much  a  sealed  book  to  them  as  the  responsi- 


Hi   , 


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174  THE  ALMOSTS; 

biUties  o!  the  citizen.  The  same  Bamaby 
Rudge,  if  left  to  his  mother's  influence,  was 
happy,  dutiful,  harmless  and  able  to  help  his 
mother  to  earn  a  Uving.  Well  did  Hugh  say  of 
him  that  he  "can  be  got  to  do  anything  if  you 
take  him  the  right  way." 

East  to  make  Happt,  Sate,  and  UsBroL 
Simple  pleasures  and  occupations  are   all 
the  feeble-minded  need.  The  occupations  of 
children  make  them  perfectly  happy.  Bamaby, 
a  strong  man,  playing  with  his  skein  of  string, 
listening  to  the  same  intennmable  story  which 
his  mother  told  him  every  day,  and  which  he 
never  remembered  the  next  day,  is  the  very 
type  of  the  feeble-minded  person  who  can  be 
made  and  kept  happy,  safe  and  weU  occupied 
at  Uttle  expense  and  with  great  success  and 
benefit  to  himself  and  others.  The  marvelous 
improvement  that  care,  kindness,  and  training 
bring  about  in  the  feeble-minded  is  -hnost 
incredible  to  those  who  have  not  learned  it 
at  first  hand.  Maggy,  who  "was  never  to  be 
more  than  ten  years  old,  however  long  she 
lived,"  under  the  motherly  care  of  Little  Dorrit 
"began  to  take  pains  to  improve  herself,"  "got 


R-^: 


in'    ! 


EASY  TO  MAKE  HAPPY 


175 


enough  to  do  to  support  herself,"  "  was  allowed 
to  come  in  and  out  as  often  as  she  liked." 

There  are  those  like  "Jo"  and  "Sloppy" 
and  "Alice"  who  are  accused  of  being  men- 
tally defective  when  they  are  far  otherwise. 
Beware  the  gifted  amateur,  particularly  those 
bearing  Binet  tests  which  they  do  not  under- 
stand. Beware  also  the  de-humanized  expert 
—  another  great  public  danger.  We  shouW  all 
consider  ourselves  "Counsel  for  *!ie  Accused" 
and  never  whisper  "feeble-minded"  unless 
and  until  mental  defect  is  clearly  and  un- 
questionably proved. 

The  dark  tragedies  involved  in  this  problem 
are,  naturally,  and  properly  enough,  lightly 
touched  upon  in  fiction.  Miss  Fanny,  though 
she  said  Young  Sparkler  was  "almost  an 
idiot,"  and  despised  him  for  his  mental  feeble- 
ness, married  him  in  the  end.  He  could  not 
earn  a  living  —  he  had  no  more  mind  or  will 
of  his  own  than  "a  boat  when  it  is  towed  by  a 
steamship." 

But  we  realize  now,  what  no  one  realized 
then,  that  marriage  with  a  mental  defective 
brings  the  curse  of  mental  defect  upon  the 
children.  Many  of  the  Susan  Nippers  and  Miss 


1!^: 


1r 


[ir 


Ul 


!l 


I  ^- 


k!^^ 


[i% 


I 


176  THE  ALMOSTS 

Fannys  of  the  present  generation  know  that 
now,  and  soon  all  will  know  it. 

Little  Dorrit  showed  right  feeUng  and  a  true 
instmct  in  dealing  with  the  mentally  defective. 
She  was  a  "Little  Mother"  to  poor  Maggy, 
but  she  said  she  would  far  rather  see  her  sister 
working  hard  for  a  living  than  rich  and  mar- 
ried to  Young  Sparkler.  We  do  wrong  when  we 
permit  a  mental  defective  to  become  a  parent. 
Those  who  know  anything  about  the  work 
of  orphanages,  refuges,  and  other  charitable 
institutions,  those  who  have  btv*n  on  duty  in 
"locked  wards"  or  maternity  wards  of  hospi- 
tab,  those  who  are  aware  of  the  problem  of  the 
poor  unfathered  baby  (did  you  ever  think  to 
yourself  how  innocent  that  baby  is!),  those  who 
work  for  prison  reform — no  such  person  needs 
to  be  told  what  feeble-mindedness  costs  in  hard 
cash,  in  self-respect,  in  social  degradation  — 
and  degeneracy.  "Our  duty  to  our  neighbor 
must  now  be  held  to  include  our  duty  to  pos- 
terity." We  never  shall  conquer  our  two  worst 
social  evils  until  we  deal  with  and  remove  this 
stumbling-block  of  the  mental  defective  which 
stands  in  a  causal  relation  to  them  both.  It 
is  not  the  only  thing  we  have  to  do,  but  is  there 


B-  i  '■ 


f^*- 


EASY  TO  MAKE  HAPPY 


177 


any  other  one  thing  that  would  help  as  much 
in  solving  our  social  problems  as  dealing  firm- 
ly, wisely,  and  kindly  with  mentally  defective 
persons? 

These  two  problems  are  closely  connected 
with  crtch  other,  and  they  cannot  be  effectively 
dealt  with  unless  we  stop  neglecting  the  men- 
tally defective  and  reorganize  charitable  insti- 
tutions, work  for  dependents  and  delinquents, 
procedure  in  criminal  courts,  and  above  all 
education  and  school-work,  according  to  the 
facts,  recognizing  mental  defectives  as  chil- 
dren, the  wards  of  the  state,  who  must  receive 
the  training,  protection  and  care  — in  one 
word,  the  home  that  they  need,  so  that  they 
do  not  mingle  with  the  general  community. 
Hattie  Wanhope  was  recognized  at  school. 
She  should  have  been  taken  into  care  then. 
Poor  Hattie  is  far  more  dangerous  to  the  Na- 
tion than  Maggy  or  Bamaby  Rudge. 

A  hundred  years  ago  people  began  to  deal 
more  justly,  kindly,  and  sensibly  with  lunatics 
and  with  mental  defectives,  because  they  began 
to  conjecture  that  lunatics  were  sick  and  had 
need  of  a  physician  and  mental  defectives  were 
permanent  diildren  and  needed  permanent  par- 


%f 


I'-    ', 


m 

m 


it' 

•    * 


ITS  THE  ALBiOSTS 

ents.  In  the  hundred  years  since,  in  our  weD- 
meant  efforts  to  do  good,  we  have  of  ten  only 
tried  to  help  the  mentally  unfit  to  do  the  things 

they  are  unfit  to  do,  such  as  attempting  to  miie 

a  home.  The  mentally  defecUve  are  those  who 
cannot  make,  or  help  to  make,  a  home. 

We  must  make  a  happy  and  permanent  home 
for  them  during  their  Uve"  The  only  Perma- 
nent Parent  is  the  State. 

If  a  hundred  years— and  the  Great  War— 
and  the  sacrifice  of  the  "chief  of  our  strength 
in  this  generation -- the  glory  of  our  you^ 
who  gave  their  Uves  for  the  Peace  and  the  Free- 
dom and  the  Justice  of  the  world-if  this 
—  and  the  coming  of  Democracy,  so  that  we 
all  have  a  share  in  detenninmg  national  think- 
ing and  acting-have  made  us  wiser-and 
there  are  signs  that  seem  to  say  '  Yes 
then  the  mind  of  the  Nation  will  rise  nearer  to 
the  level  of  our  great  writers,  and  we  shall  see 
somewhat  more  clearly  what  is  and  what  is  not 
meant  by  this  National  problem  of  the  men- 
tally defective,  and  see  our  duty  to  them  and 
to  the  Nation  —  and  set  ourselves  to  do  it. 


II  t  i 


II 


liij  it 


CAMBMOOB  .  MA8HACHU8BTTB 
O   .  ■  .  A 


[jil  i 


